The Only Man I Can Trust
by ladybrit
Summary: There were many times that Chester managed to mess things up, but occasionally he could be the hero.
1. Chapter 1

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 1

Chester Goode sat in the meager shade offered by a pair of soapberry trees growing along the bank of a creek, which would eventually flow into the Arkansas River. He was about thirty-five miles northeast of Dodge City, and was watching a small piece of cork bobbing on the water. The bobber, in turn, was connected to a fish-hook. Chester had visited this quiet fishing hole only once before, and that time he had been with Mr. Dillon. Now it was a little different; he was all alone. He'd been here since last night and when morning came, he decided that a little fishing was in order to help pass the time, while he waited. That little piece of cork, however, was not where his mind was focused.

The purpose of his visit to this isolated place was still a mystery. He had received a telegram from his boss, Mr. Dillon, the United States Marshal for the State of Kansas, asking him to be here, at least that is what he thought it meant. The request seemed a little strange, but Chester had such a high regard for Mr. Dillon, that he had done exactly what the telegram had asked, without thinking twice about it.

It had been a week or more since the marshal had left for Great Bend, Kansas. He had received word that the bodies of the local Sheriff and his deputy had been found in an alley somewhere on the western edge of town. The only additional piece of information was that both had been shot in the back. Chester himself had got Mr. Dillon's horse saddled and brought it up to the office. He had even volunteered to go along, but Dillon had told him he'd rather have someone stay and keep an eye on the town, because as he'd said several times before, Chester was the only man in Dodge, apart from Doc, he could really trust.

Another hour had passed and still no sign of Dillon. Chester waited patiently as the sun passed its zenith and began to descend towards the western horizon. The shadows cast by the sinking rays were the only things that seemed to be moving at all. Even the river was barely flowing now, and the air was completely still. Finally, he got up from the saddle-blanket where he had been sitting, stretched, and led his horse towards the water to drink. As he stood there he looked around wondering how much longer he should wait and hoping that nothing bad had happened to the man he idolized.

The telegram had been somewhat vague but hinted that he should not tell anyone where he was going, nor bring anyone with him. For Chester that had been a problem because he always had difficulty fabricating a story. By leaving town as the first streaks of daylight appeared, he had hoped to sneak away without anyone noticing. He'd walked to the stable without seeing a soul, then quietly tacked up his horse. He was just about to walk outside when Doc Adams pulled up in his buggy. He was more than surprised to see Chester who was not known for enjoying the first light of day, unless a free breakfast was involved.

Doc had been out in the country with a family whose youngest child had developed a severe case of the croup. Just before dawn the youngster had turned the corner and started to make a rapid recovery. Gratefully, Adams had left the home and driven his buggy back to Dodge where he hoped to catch up on a few hours sleep before starting a new day of making rounds on sick patients.

"You must be getting home awful late, Chester, because I know you'd never be up this early."

"Well, Doc, for yer information, I was plannin to go do a little fishin, so y' jest mind yer own business."

Chester was all ready for the onslaught of questions and barbs that Doc usually threw at him, but the physician had endured a pretty rough night and his heart was not up to such an altercation. Adams scrubbed his mustache with the palm of his left hand and waved the marshal's assistant on his way.

"Just don't you get lost, Chester, and don't you be gone too long. You know Matt asked you to keep am eye on the town for him, while he was gone."

"I know exactly what Mr. Dillon asked me to do," the jailer answered somewhat angrily. He swung up into the saddle then reached down quickly to push the stirrup onto his right foot. "You just mind your doctoring business, and I'll watch out fer Mr. Dillon."

Sometimes Doc's arguing made him really angry inside. It seemed like the older man was trying to belittle him, just like other folks used to do. But then sometimes, all unexpected like, the doctor would take him to Delmonico's and buy him breakfast or lunch, so in a way that kinda made up for it. Chester decided that Doc treated most people like that, not just him. Maybe it was how he remained apart from everyone, after all the man didn't seem to have any close friends except for Mr. Dillon and Miss Kitty.

He spurred his horse onto the street, and quickly headed out of town before the crotchety physician thought of any more comments.

That had all taken place early yesterday morning. Now it was almost dark again, and still no sign of the marshal. Chester had made a small campsite close to the river and prepared to settle down for the second night. He didn't intend to sleep, just incase his boss showed up and needed him. He owed a lot to Mr. Dillon.

 _Chester remembered the day he had watched the big man ride into Dodge City. He himself, had never had much in the way of a regular job since he had been a cook in the army. No one seemed to think he was capable of much because of his stiff leg. Moss Grimmick let him help out at the livery stable, from time to time, in exchange for allowing him to sleep in the hayloft. He usually fetched Dr. Adams' mail for him, and sometimes did odd jobs for other people in the town, which earned him a little spending money. Mostly, however, he was broke without even a nickel in his pocket. If it hadn't been for Moss and a few other people, he would have had a tough time keeping body and soul together._

 _Dodge had been a pretty rough town in those early days. At one time there had been a law officer there - or so people said - but that had been long before he arrived. The endless number of saloons, crooked gamblers, and Texas cowboys meant that every night gunshots rang out more times than you could count. When morning came, there were bodies waiting in the street to be picked up. It happened so often that Boot Hill was becoming more populated than the town itself. Chester would often go help bury those who had succumbed during the night, and earned a little money for his services. Strange, he thought, how in that way the dead were helping the living._

 _Chester was no small man, standing at least a couple of inches over six foot, but when the tall man on the buckskin horse rode into Moss Grimmick's stable that morning, he remembered feeling quite small. A man that tall could have been intimidating to a man with a stiff leg, who never carried a gun, but the stranger's face had an easy grin as he removed his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve._

 _"_ _I need someone to take care of my horse," he said. "We've both had kind of a long ride."_

 _"_ _I kin take care of him for you, Mister…." He waited for a name._

 _"_ _Dillon," supplied the man._

 _"_ _Chester Goode," Chester answered. "I kin rub him down an feed him fer you too, if ya' like."_

 _The man started to loosen the girth from around his horse. Chester was about to tell hm he would be happy to do that and clean his tack as well - anything to earn a quarter or two. Then as the man moved around the animal, Chester caught sight of the piece of metal pinned to his shirt._

 _"_ _You a lawman?" Chester's question was more surprise than anything else. A lawman was not someone he expected to see in this excuse for a town._

 _"_ _United States Marshal," the man called Dillon replied casually. "I'm going to be based here in Dodge City."_

 _"_ _We ain't had a lawman here in a coon's age, Marshal. Don't reckon folks will take too kindly to the law coming to Dodge."_

 _"_ _I'm here anyway. I passed by the jail as I rode into town. Looks like it could do with some cleaning and repair. You know anyone who'd be interested in a job?"_

 _Chester's face lit up. "I'd be more'n happy to do that if ya like, Marshal. I only work here at the stable kinda part time. Soon as I git yer horse took care of, I kin get started with whatever it is ya need done at the jail." Chester was hopping from foot to foot. He could hardly contain his excitement over the possibility of some steady work for a while. More than that he couldn't wait to spread the news to the rest of the town._

 _The lawman seemed to be pleased with the idea. Chester didn't think he'd noticed his stiff leg yet, or the fact that he didn't wear a gun. He was used to people assuming he was a useless cripple and just hoped the marshal wouldn't throw him out the minute he saw that he only had one good leg._

Chester positioned his saddle as a backrest and made himself as comfortable as he could, considering his bed was the hard ground. He never cared much for sleeping rough. He had done it often enough during the five or six years he had worked for Mr. Dillon. The marshal seemed to enjoy being out here on the prairie, sleeping under the stars and heating coffee over a wood fire. Chester could never really get his leg easy when sleeping or sitting on the ground - of course he would never admit that to anyone, especially Mr. Dillon.

The small fire he had lit was dying down to just a few embers. He threw another piece of wood on it, then watched as small sparks jumped up and hung briefly in the air above the flames, like the fireflies he had collected as a kid. He didn't want a big fire, just something that would keep water hot for coffee and maybe scare off any interested coyotes. At the thought of coyotes, he reached over to check that his rifle was near to hand and loaded just in case he needed to use it. Chester was quite able to take care of himself if he had to - but he had to admit to feeling a lot safer when Mr. Dillon was around.

 _Chester's thoughts went back to that morning when he had first met Matt Dillon. He finished taking care of the big buckskin horse, then hurried along with his part hop, part running gait, to the new marshal's office. The place had been locked up for years, so it was not surprising that there was dust, dirt, and spiders webs covering everything. A rusty old iron cot ran along beside one wall and a shelf hung above it. Other than that, there was a desk with a chair set behind it, and then a safe between it and the oldest stove he had ever seen. Two chairs, an old wooden filing cabinet, a small table, and a washstand completed the furnishings. Dillon had handed him some coins and told him to go along to the mercantile to buy a bucket and mop, and other cleaning supplies._

 _It had taken them three days to get the place cleaned up and repaired. All in all, it was a week before it was respectable enough to hang the new sign out front, proclaiming this to be the office of the United States Marshal in Dodge City._

 _Strangely enough, Chester felt a pride of his own in that sign. This was, for the first time in his life, something he began to feel part of. He had watched Dillon in action a few times since the tall man had arrived in town. He had seen him stop a fight in the Lady Gay Saloon using a backhanded slap across the chin of the loud-mouthed instigator. He had also watched him disperse a crowd of cowboys intent on lynching a gambler they thought had been cheating. Finally, he had seen the marshal outdraw a gunman right there on Front Street. It had been an experience that Chester would never forget. The gunslinger was fast - but Dillon was even faster and more accurate, so in the end, only the stranger lay dead on the ground. When it was all over, Chester discovered he had been holding his breath during that entire confrontation._

 _The new marshal made a big impression on Chester, even in the short time he had known him. Chester realized he would never become an official deputy and wear a badge an' all, but in a way that was all right. He was happy to be the assistant and the jailer. He would always have a place to sleep, eight dollars a month pay, and a lot of times a free meal too. That wasn't much, but it was better than what he had before Dillon came to town._

 _The marshal had never commented on his stiff leg or made any allowances because of it. He just accepted the man as he was. In return, Chester did everything he could to make the marshal's life easier. He made the coffee, watched any prisoners and saw that they got fed. He also kept the office reasonably clean and tidy - he found that Mr. Dillon liked to have things organized and didn't like the office or the cells getting dirty or cluttered. He had Chester make a peg by the door to the cells where the jail keys could hang, and another peg below it for his gun belt. By the front door, he wanted a peg for his stetson - and Chester took it upon himself to install a second peg just a little lower down for his own hat._

He smiled to himself as he remembered those early days. Dillon had never said anything about that second peg - but it sure meant a lot to Chester.

It was completely dark now. Chester got up one more time to check on his horse then settled down for the night. For a moment or two his mind wandered back to the telegram. He took it from his pants pocket where he had stuffed it, and read it again by the light of the fading campfire. He hoped he was understanding Mr. Dillon's instructions correctly, and wondered if maybe this had something to do with the murdered sheriff. He didn't know how long he should wait for his boss to show up, but maybe tomorrow would bring some answers. He read the words again, they hadn't changed:

 **Meet me tomorrow at fishing hole we found last year. Big catfish. Bring gear and come alone. MD**

He wasn't sure what fishing had to do with the murdered sheriff, but this was the place where he had caught that giant catfish about eight or nine months ago. He and the marshal had been trailing a pair of bank robbers and had camped overnight on this very spot. Chester had barely dropped the hook in the water when the fish took it. They had dined well that night, and he smiled at the memory. Next morning they had caught up with the men just a few miles across the river. There had been a quick gunfight, and both robbers finished up dead. He and the marshal buried them both, then headed back to Dodge with the stolen money.

Doc had never believed his story about the big catfish.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 2

Matt had felt a deep sorrow when he read the telegram. John Hicks had been the sheriff in Great Bend for almost eight years, and Matt knew him well. John was a good man. The Dodge marshal had only met Hicks' deputy one time, and couldn't remember his name, but he did recall that he was a young man with a family. Another reminder for him that a badge and a family didn't go together.

He stopped by the Long Branch early that evening, not looking forward to explaining to Kitty that he would be leaving town yet again. He had been back for less than a week, and he knew she would be disappointed to hear that he was planning to leave again, so soon. Still, as he had explained to her many times before, this was his job. As always, the badge had to come first.

Kitty looked up and smiled at him as he entered. She was looking forward to spending time with him later tonight. She'd really missed him while he'd been gone, and their few stolen hours together since his return had been very precious.

Kitty Russell had arrived in Dodge City about five years ago. The tall marshal had fascinated her since the first moment she set eyes on him, and she had worked hard to get to know him. He was reluctant to talk to her at first - almost shy, but it had to be more than that. She could see that he was interested, but kept holding himself back. It took her many months to persuade him to take her out of town for a few hours - ostensibly to go fishing, but they both knew there would be more to it than that. She had asked him why he kept avoiding her; after all most men found her attractive. He had explained carefully, using words it seemed he had learned by rote, a long time ago.

"As long as I wear this badge, I have no right to commit to a relationship. I can't put someone else's life in danger because of my job."

They had come to an agreement. There would be no display of affection between them in public. In private - well, that might be different.

After Kitty became part owner of the Long Branch Saloon, and got her own suite of rooms upstairs, Matt became a frequent late night visitor when he was in town. Usually he would stop by the saloon early in the evening and then return after his final rounds were complete, by which time the Long Branch would be closing up. It had become such a routine for them that those times when he was out of town, she missed him terribly.

That evening, when he looked over the bat-wing doors, she thought he looked tired; his face was troubled. Later that night, when he returned, she found that lack of sleep wasn't totally responsible for his appearance.

He had let himself in to her room and hung his hat on the stand by the door, just as he always did. He was never someone given to easy conversation, but tonight he seemed more reticent than usual. She poured them each a snifter of fine brandy and indicated for him to come and sit next to her on the settee.

"What's troubling you, Matt?" she asked. it had become apparent that he wasn't going to start the conversation

He looked at her, surprised that she could read him so easily. He would have to tell her. He took a breath before speaking.

"I have to leave town tomorrow, Kitty. I'll try not to be away for long."

"But you only just got back!"

He nodded, looking down at the drink in his hand.

"I know, but this is important. Sheriff Hicks from up in Great Bend, and his deputy, were found dead in an alley, both shot in the back." He turned to look at her and she could see the pain in his eyes. "John Hicks was a good man. I'd known him for a long time, and his young deputy had a wife and children. I have to find those responsible, Kitty."

She hated to see him leave town, and probably face who ever had killed the lawmen, but at the same time, understood how he would take this personally. All she could do was tell him to be careful, and come back to her in one piece.

The night seemed all too short. He took her in his arms just as dawn was breaking, and kissed her gently on the lips. The bed was all too comforting, and Kitty, soft and warm, was lying close beside him. He thought unhappily of the long ride ahead. Leaving was never easy, and each time it seemed to get a little more difficult.

"I have to go now," he whispered. She held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes.

"Please be careful, Matt. You know I worry about you." She watched his every movement as he got dressed; then he lifted his gun-belt from the table beside the bed and fastened it around his hips.

"I'll be fine. I've told Chester to keep an eye on things while I'm away."

She smiled sadly. Chester was a good man, but she could hardly imagine him taking care of the town the way Matt did. Still the marshal seemed to have a lot of faith in his assistant.

He leaned his face down towards her and she stretched up to exchange a final kiss before turning him loose. No other words were necessary, and without speaking he gathered his hat and left the room. She strained her ears to hear his footsteps as he descended the stairs and strode across the alley. Then, maybe more by imagination than anything else, she managed to hear a few more steps as he climbed onto the board walk. Soon, they too faded away. She turned over and clutched the pillow that still held his scent. Sometimes she wondered why she had fallen so deeply for this man. A banker or a rancher would live a far less dangerous existence and not cause her a fraction of the worry and heartache. But Matt Dillon was a unique person, and she had long since realized that, apparently, he was the only man who could hold her love. He was always true to himself and to that badge he wore. Even though it hurt sometimes, she wouldn't have him be any other way.

"You sure you don't want me to come with ya', Mr. Dillon. I kin be ready to ride in no time."

"No Chester I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things for me." As he spoke, Dillon swung up into the saddle and Chester handed him his rifle and canteen.

"Be careful, Mr. Dillon."

Chester patted the big buckskin on the rump, then watched as the marshal urged the horse forward and headed off along Front Street. He understood that his boss had an almost two-day ride ahead of him. After that who knew what on earth he'd find in Great Bend.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 3

Great Bend was about eighty miles from Dodge. Matt had confidence that the big buckskin he rode could do the trip in two days if he got started early enough. Dillon rode well into the night on that first day, before stopping to make camp by a small creek. After taking care of his horse he spread his saddle blanket on the ground and settled in for a few hours' rest. He knew he wouldn't really sleep. Six years wearing the badge had taught him that it was never safe to close both eyes, even for a short while, when he was out on the trail. He had too many enemies out there.

Next morning, he packed up his bedroll, scattered the now cold ashes from the fire, then before mounting up and heading out, removed his badge and pushed it deep into his vest pocket. It was a tight fit and would be safe there. He figured he had a better chance of finding out what had happened to his friend John Hicks, if he went into town as a drifter or a cowboy looking for work. Many people despised the rule of law here on the frontier and, as a United States Marshal riding into town, he would get no help from anyone.

It was late afternoon when, at last, he saw the buildings of the town of Great Bend in the distance. Encouraging his mount to move forward at a brisk trot, it wasn't long before he stopped at a livery stable on the edge of town. He had never used this particular stable before. He doubted that anyone in town would recognize him anyway. It must be more than four years since he had last been here, but he knew that stable owners often had a long memory for horses, especially large buckskins. He gave a few brief instructions on the care of his mount then took his saddle bag, rifle, and canteen with him to go find a room at a boarding house just two buildings away. He found a small, fairly clean room where no one would notice him. It wasn't fancy, but would serve his needs well.

Having cleaned most of the trail dust from his clothes, he decided not to shave. A little dirt and a scruffy beard on his face would help him to blend in as a drifter. Like Dodge, this town had numerous saloons and bars. Selecting an establishment he hadn't visited before, he entered and walked up to the bar to order a beer. The barkeep was surly and not willing to start a conversation so he took his beer to an empty table. The place hardly warranted being called a saloon. The tables and chairs looked like they had been roughly repaired on too many occasions. The floor hadn't been mopped in a long time and he didn't have to look too hard to find stains that were probably dried blood. From the number of bullet holes in the walls, he figured that gunfights had been a regular occurrence here. There were three tables with poker games in progress, and in the back corner, a larger table with a roulette wheel. He hardly sat down before one man at a poker table stood up sharply, pulling a gun and yelling at the dealer, accusing him of cheating. Matt knew he couldn't do anything about it, although his instinct was to try to stop a killing. It was all he could do to look the other way. In a moment, two men appeared. Both looked like hired guns. They quickly grabbed the man and between them hauled him from the table and pushed him out the door into the street. He feared for the man's safety, but he had a job to do so couldn't get involved. It wasn't long before a hardened looking saloon girl came to join him. Girl was probably a compliment. This particular woman had probably been working in saloons for longer than he had been wearing a star.

"You want some company?" she asked as she laid a hand on his shoulder. She smelled like the bar itself - stale whisky, human sweat, and cheap cigars. Her dress was torn at one shoulder, revealing even more of her anatomy than the low cut bodice intended. Around her neck, a string of cheap glass beads did little to improve her appearance.

Dillon knew from experience that bars were often as good a source for information as they were for alcohol so, trying to play his part, he asked her if she'd like a beer. Of course, she said she'd prefer whisky. If she could tell him anything at all, the price of the liquor might be a worthwhile investment. He pulled a chair out from the table for her, and signaled to the barkeep to bring her a drink.

"Does that happen often?" he asked her, referring to the recent commotion at the nearby poker table.

"Oh yes, quite often." She smiled, only to reveal at least one missing tooth as she rubbed against his arm. "But we don't need to worry about that. Trent Carp's men will take care of any trouble."

"Is Carp the sheriff here?" he asked innocently, "Last time I was here, John Hicks was the law."

She hesitated for a moment, then changed the subject. "My name's Fleur. It's French for flower. Do you have a name?"

He thought for a moment. In some ways, he felt sorry for Fleur, or whatever her real name was. She had probably been a pretty girl a decade or so ago, but now she was definitely on the decline. From the way she had avoided answering his question, he thought she knew something. Maybe she could be useful to him.

"It's Matt," he answered.

"What are you doing here? Are you just passing through?"

"Pretty much. Thought I might find some work."

"Do you have a place to stay?" She smiled and batted her over-painted eye lids.

"I hadn't really thought about that," he lied.

"I have a room down the street a ways. Maybe we could get together after I finish work here."

He tried to act as if he was interested. "Maybe you should show me."

Several hours later Dillon waited outside the back door of the saloon for Fleur to appear. He had no intention of availing himself of this woman's services, but still had the feeling that she might be able to tell him more about Trent Carp.

She led him to a small one-room shack in what was almost certainly the wrong end of town. The inside, if possible, looked even worse than the outside. If this was the place where Fleur brought the men who paid for her professional services, she was probably not making much money.

He sat at the only table while she threw a log in the stove and brought two mugs from a cracked bowl that served as a sink. They were not particularly clean, but she filled them with what was probably straight corn liquor poured from a stone jug.

"Sorry I don't have anything better to offer you. Tell me what you want to do and I'll tell you how much it'll cost."

She had come up behind him and begun to massage his neck and shoulders. Kitty had done that a time or two after he had had a long, hard ride and it helped relax him and ease the stiffness in his muscles. But this felt all wrong. He spun around, a little too abruptly. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but was not liking that much physical contact.

"I just want to talk," he said pulling some money from his pocket and putting it on the table.

She stared at him for a moment. "Nobody comes here to talk," she said, reluctantly removing her hands from his muscled shoulders.

"I really came here to visit with John Hicks, and now I hear he's dead. I want to know what happened," he explained.

She stared at him for a moment. She looked almost frightened. "I don't know anything." Her reply was too fast; Matt knew she was lying. He put a few more dollars on the table.

"He was a really good friend of mine, and I'm going to find out what happened to him from someone. You might as well get paid for the information as anyone else."

She paced the floor, wringing her hands, then moved an old sack cloth hanging over a window so she could look outside.

"They'll kill me if I tell you anything. No one is supposed to talk about what happened. Carp has men everywhere."

Dillon didn't want to tell her who he was, or promise to protect her from Carp, but he wanted to know what happened. She came back to the table and looked at the money he had placed there. It was a lot more than she would earn at that seedy saloon in a whole week.

"You sure that all you wanna do is talk?" she asked again. "I could give you a really good time for all that money."

"All I'm looking for is information."

She paced the floor a few more times, then picked up one of the mugs of corn liquor and chugged it back in one swallow. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and took a big breath. Matt waited while she sat herself in the other chair, and stared around the room as if waiting for someone to jump out from a dark corner. Eventually she began.

"About six months ago, a gambler named Tad Holcombe came to town. I was working at The Painted Lady at the time. It was the fanciest place in town." She said that as if she was proud of the fact. "Holcombe started a Faro table but there were many complaints that he was cheating. You know how men are, they'd keep playing anyway because sometimes one of them would win." She had been staring at her now empty mug, but lifted her head to look at him. "Eventually your friend Hicks decided it was time to close it down and threw Holcombe out of town, but Holcombe retuned and brought Carp and some of his friends with him. Next thing I knew, Hicks and his deputy were found dead in an alley. Holcombe had a whole new game going, and several more like him arrived in town." She got up from the table and paced the floor anxiously for a minute or two before continuing. "Pretty soon the Painted Lady became the Aces High, and roulette wheels, crap tables, and high stakes poker games were moved in. Carp didn't want a lot of saloon girls in there taking money from the customers, so I moved over to that place you met me in tonight. Now, I expect you noticed, there are card tables in every saloon and I think they are all crooked. Carp and his men take a big share of the profits and anyone who objects gets thrown out of town, or killed. Most of the other businesses run normally, but I think Carp gets a cut from those too, I know he does from me. I hear he has several of the local homesteaders so scared that they pay him a cut of anything they make. Some of the larger ranches around are left alone - I think Carp is probably scared of facing someone who has fifteen or twenty hired hands to back him up. I also heard that a stage was robbed, after the bank here tried to send a big cash box to Wichita, but I don't know for sure. People are scared to talk much about it." She stopped for a moment, looking at him with pleading eyes, "I think I have already said too much." She sank back into the chair, propping her arms on the table and sinking her face into her hands as if in despair.

He pushed the money across the table to her.

"One more thing. Tell me about this Tad Holcombe."

"What's to tell? He's a gambler. Smooth talking, fancy dresser, carries a small pistol in an inside pocket. Rumor has it he has a brother who he bought out of prison, I think he will be here soon."

Matt was thinking back to two years ago. He had arrested a man by the name of Spike Holcombe who had robbed a bank in Pueblo. The man had been tried and sentenced to fifteen years' hard labor. All the while Holcombe had been in the jail, he threatened that his brother would find a way to set him free, and then he'd come back and kill Dillon. It could just be coincidence, but he didn't believe too much in coincidence. Spike Holcombe had been as handy with a deck of cards as a gunslinger was with a pistol. He carried one with him everywhere he went, and even in the jail he would play solitaire or shuffle the deck constantly until it nearly drove Chester to distraction.

He picked up his hat and put it on his head.

"Thanks for your help, Fleur. I'll leave you in peace now. It might be wise not to mention our talk tonight to anyone else."

"Wait!" She had jumped up and gone to stand by the door, "Are you sure you don't want anything else?" She had thought to herself earlier how this man was very different to the usual drunken rabble that came to the Red Slipper where she now worked. There was something almost decent about him, and she would like to get to know him better.

"I'm sure," he said putting his hat firmly on his head.

She opened the door and looked outside. Everything seemed quiet and no one was about. She signaled for him to come on.

As Matt stepped out into the darkness he had a strange feeling. Somehow he felt sorry for the woman he had just left, but he also felt uneasy. If the gambler she talked about was connected to the Spike Holcombe he knew, this could turn out to be a bad situation.

Fleur stood watching him leave until his shadow got absorbed into the darkness, then she turned to go back inside the shack that served as her home and place of business. She was thinking how at one time she had had something much nicer. It had been clean, and fancy curtains had hung at the windows. Her dresses had been pretty, and she didn't have to wear this fake jewelry. She was trying to close the door and lock it for the night, but something was in the way. She looked down and a boot was preventing it from closing. The next thing she knew the door flew open and hit her in the face, and a strong arm was around her neck, trying to choke the life out of her.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 4

Dillon walked back to the boarding house, trying to sort out what he had learned so far. Was Holcombe the instigator of what was going on in this town or was it Carp? The easiest way would be to arrest them both - but first he needed some kind of evidence. He wondered if any of the honest business owners in town would be willing to talk to him. Maybe he would try the bank in the morning.

He lay in bed, planning to get at least a few hours sleep. He thought about Fleur and the sad life she led, then wondered what it was that had given Kitty the ability to move up above such an existence. He had to admit he felt a certain pride in the young woman who had stepped off a stagecoach in Dodge City five years ago. Instead of sinking down to the depths that Fleur had found, Kitty had risen to the top - becoming part owner of the best saloon in town. He smiled as he thought of her. Sometimes he wished he could give up this badge and settle down, then he could spend every night with her sleeping next to him, but he knew it wouldn't work. There was a job that had to be done, and unfortunately for him, he was one of the few men capable of doing it. He felt no pride in that, just a deep sense of responsibility.

Somehow the image of her face had forced its way into his head, and he tried to push it aside. His present problem was to find out what happened to John Hicks and then arrest the people responsible. He developed a vague plan but knew he would need some help. He needed to talk with Chester, preferably somewhere outside of Great Bend, that way they would not appear to be known to each other.

Next morning he got up early, which was not difficult for him since he usually made early morning rounds in Dodge City. He liked to make sure that no troublemakers, left over from the night before, were still skulking around the town's dark alleys. If he found them early enough, he could make sure they were gone before the rest of Dodge was up and about.

He knew the telegraph office in Great Bend was at the other end of town, and hopefully the operator would be there. As he set of in that direction he began to compose a note in his head.

 **Meet me tomorrow at fishing hole we found last year. Big catfish. Bring gear and come alone.**

That seemed to cover everything. Dillon knew that most people didn't give Chester much credit for being smart, but he had always found him to be capable of rising to the occasion when needed. He just hoped that the jailer remembered where they had camped, a year or so ago, while trailing a pair of bank robbers. It was a quiet place on a branch of the Arkansas River where a small grove of Soapberry trees made good shade, and the fishing had been exceptionally good. Chester had caught a large catfish, which they had cooked over a fire, then camped for the night before continuing after the robbers the next day. Chester always remembered good fishing holes - he hoped this time would be no exception.

As he approached the telegraph office he noticed a man propping up the corner of a building across the street. He was holding a Spencer carbine and looked like one of the men who had removed the poker player from the saloon yesterday evening. Undeterred, he entered the office and picked up a form on which to write his message. The clerk looked at him; Matt could see fear in the man's eyes. It reminded him of the scared little operator in Elkader. Hinkle had been his name. Matt had been forced to use him to find the ruthless killer, Lou Shippen. He didn't like using people like that, but sometimes, like now, options were limited.

"What do you want, Mister?"

"I want you to send this wire to Dodge City."

The man hesitated. Matt stepped up and took him by the collar. "For your own good, I suggest you send it now, and don't try fooling me. It wont work."

The man glanced through the window at the figure with the gun across the street.

"Now, would be a good time." Matt told him.

"Look Mister, I'm scared of what's going on in this town."

"I'm here to help, so just send that message. If they ask me, I'll tell 'em you refused. Just do it now. Hurry."

The little man looked at Dillon for a second or two then scurried back to his desk and started tapping frantically on the terminal key. "Who you want it to go to?"

"Chester Goode, Dodge City. Just sign it MD."

"We sure need help Mister. There's all kinda bad things goin' on here."

The clerk continued to tap on the key for a few more seconds.

"It's sent," he announced.

Matt was watching the man across the street. He had left his post and was walking towards the telegraph office. He pocketed the note he had written just as the door burst open.

The operator began to shake, "I…I… told him the lines were down, Mr. Farrell. I said I couldn't send anything."

"That's right," Matt confirmed, "Guess I'll try again tomorrow." He pushed past the newcomer and walked out into the street.

The man with the rifle turned to the hapless clerk, "I hope, for your sake, you're telling the truth. You know the rules - no telegrams to be sent or delivered unless Mr. Carp or me sees 'em first."

"Honest, Mr. Farrell, I told him I couldn't send any messages because the lines were all down."

Pete Farrell wasn't sure if he believed the man or not, but since Carp had told him they needed the telegraph to be operational, he only struck the clerk across the head with the rifle barrel. Not enough to seriously hurt him, but sufficient to let him know who was boss. He hadn't got much information from the girl last night either. She had claimed that the only name the man had given her was Matt. She thought he was a cowboy just passing through and looking for a little pleasure. Farrell had slapped her around quite a bit too, but she never changed her story. Still, he wasn't quite sure if he believed her because he hadn't hit her that hard. Sometimes he went so far as to feel a little sorry for the woman, and had even availed himself of her services a time or two. There was something about that tall man though. The way he walked and looked at people. He was too confident to be just a regular out of work cowboy. He had to go talk with Mr. Carp. It was time to bring this tall man down a notch; otherwise, he had a feeling that things weren't going to run as smoothly as they had been in Great Bend.

()()()

Farrell walked slowly towards the Aces High saloon. He watched as the tall stranger entered the cafe across the street. At least he would know where to find him if Mr. Carp wanted more information. There was a small room at the back of the saloon where Carp and Holcombe met every morning. He knocked on the door and went in.

Carp looked up from the desk where he was sitting. He had a thin face with a drooping mustache. His eyes were a cold gray color and, right now, they were focused on Farrell.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"You asked me to find out about that man who was in the saloon last night."

"Well?" Carp had little patience, especially with Farrell.

"He went home with the whore who calls herself Fleur. I talked to her after he left. Had to persuade her a little, but all she could tell me was that his name was Matt, and he was a cowboy passing through town looking for a job. I don't think she was covering up for him. I scared her pretty good."

"Uh huh - what else?"

"This morning, he went to the telegraph office, but Johnny told him the lines were down."

"Bring him to me, understand? You better take a couple of the boys with you. Leave now, I'm busy."

Farrell closed the door behind him. He didn't like Carp and was easily intimidated by him, but Carp paid him well, and his position as Carp's right-hand-man gave him a feeling of authority which he enjoyed. Unfortunately, most of the time, Carp treated him as if he was some kind of moron, and he didn't appreciate that so much. What Farrell didn't know was that the other men had no respect for him either. They only went along with his orders because they didn't want to deal with Carp if things went wrong.

In the saloon, he gathered four men who were sitting around a table eating a free breakfast.

"Carp wants me to bring in a man who's been in town for a few days and has been asking a lot of questions. He might be a little reluctant to come, so I'll need some help."

()()()

Dillon had eaten a breakfast that was much like one he could have got in Delmonico's. He decided he needed to question Holcombe and Carp and find out more about their racket in Great Bend, and more importantly, what had happened to Sheriff Hicks and his deputy. He had been in town for almost two days now and had concluded that Trent Carp had probably been the one who arranged the murder of Hicks and his deputy, even though he may not have been the one to pull the trigger. He wasn't sure where Holcombe fitted into the picture, except that he was very skilled with a deck of cards. Crooked dealers had come to Dodge often enough, sometimes asking him to look the other way in exchange for money. Of course he could never accept that. Even if he didn't wear the marshal's badge, he couldn't go against his own principles of fair play.

So far, he had found only two people in town who admitted that they would like to see Carp gone. He knew of a rancher about ten miles out of town who he thought might be of some help if he was still around. He would ride out there today and find out. Then he would go to meet Chester.

As he approached the stable, everything was quiet, as if the town was not even up and about yet. That made him a little suspicious. Usually the mornings were busy times in a stable with people coming and going, and horses being tacked up ready leave. He stayed close to the wall of the building and inched his way towards the entrance. His hand slid to his right hip, just checking that his gun was ready if he needed it. Years of being a lawman had made him aware of situations that were somehow not quite right. He entered the stable and stood looking around to check every dark corner. He stepped forward carefully, intending to check on the buckskin before tacking up.

It came out of nowhere, a thud on the back of his head. It wasn't enough to make him fall to the ground but it did stun him for a moment. He spun around, intending to draw his gun, but another hand had got to it first. He saw two men in front of him, his vision was temporarily blurred from the blow, but he hit out with a right hook and connected with the chin of one of them, knocking him to the floor. There was the second man just beyond arms length. He threw himself at him so that both landed on the floor. The breath was knocked out of his assailant, and Dillon started to rise, only to feel someone else behind him. What happened next was confused. Two other men appeared as if from nowhere. With his gun gone, all he had to defend himself with was his fists. He hit out as the two men closed in. He was holding his own pretty well until they dragged him to the ground. A series of blows and kicks to his chest and stomach took away much of his strength. He tried to curl up to protect himself as much as possible, but that only resulted in a vicious boot landing squarely on his spine. Eventually the pounding stopped. The man he had seen escorting the poker player out of the Red Slipper last night stood there with Matt's gun in his hand.

"Get up!" he ordered. Farrell was good at giving orders when he held a gun and had several men to back him up.

Matt stumbled a little as he tried to get to his feet, some of it was for show, but some he couldn't help. He fell back to the ground. There was a small glint as a piece of metal dislodged from his vest pocket; he tried to grab it but Farrell was quicker. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand and was suddenly very proud of himself.

"A United States Marshal. Well how did we get so lucky? Mr. Carp will be interested in this."

Farrell suddenly felt a lot taller. He had been smart enough to take down a real live marshal. Surely Carp would recognize his abilities now. He couldn't block the smile from his face as he ordered his men to get the lawman to his feet and drag him along to the jail.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**The Only Man I Can Trus** t

My thanks to all those folks who left comments to which I can't reply. Judy H, Cruelest Sea, Just a Guest and Pam. I appreciate your kind words.

Chapter 5

Morning came slowly to Chester. He stretched before sitting up and looking around. The fire, of course, had gone out, but he had collected a little kindling the night before in order to get it going again. That done and the coffee pot heating, he sat watching the flames and thought about what he should do. Mr. Dillon had sent a telegram specifically asking him to be here. He knew this was the right place, and he also knew that his boss wouldn't send a telegram just because the fishing was good.

Chester was worried; maybe something had happened. He was often guilty of thinking that Mr. Dillon was indestructible; he could out-draw, out-fight, out-think any man. Sadly, in reality he knew that wasn't always so.

 _The marshal hadn't been in Dodge City that long when Dan Gratt arrived. The first they knew of the man was when Jim Hill, the sheriff from Abilene, came into the office saying he had been tracking Gratt, and he was here to arrest him. The sheriff seemed to have a personal interest in arresting Gratt himself. He didn't want Dillon to get involved. Chester had been able to see how that affected his boss - he wanted to go out there and help the other lawman, but had no choice but to respect his request. Chester had watched as Gratt easily felled Jim Hill, right there on Front Street. He was the fastest gun he had ever seen, faster than Mr. Dillon even. He had wanted to go back to the office and get a rifle, but Dillon said no. Chester's blood ran cold as he watched his boss step out into the street to face gunman. He watched as two shots hit the marshal causing him to fall to the ground. He hated the satisfied look on Gratt's face, but even more he hated to see the terror on Miss Kitty's face as she tried to rush to Dillon's side._

 _Chester remembered that he was torn between supporting Miss Kitty and checking on his boss. He had sworn that, if Dillon died, he was going to get Gratt somehow, even if it was the last thing he ever did. Fortunately, because of Doc Adams skills and Mr. Dillon's strength, the marshal survived. He even faced Gratt a second time, but by then he had figured out the gunman's weakness, and so the law prevailed._

Chester's thoughts came back to the present. His problem hadn't changed. Mr. Dillon hadn't shown up; something must be wrong. The only thing he could do was ride into Great Bend and see what was going on. He saddled his horse and mounted up. By leaving now, he should reach the town by dark or shortly after. Fortunately this was a well-travelled road so he could make good time.

()()()

It was late evening when Chester arrived in Great Bend He was anxious to climb down from the saddle he had been sitting in for hours, so entered the first livery stable he came to. A man about his own age met him at the door.

"Howdy there, Mister, I was just thinking of closing up for the night."

"You got room for one more?" Chester asked.

"Sure, just put him in that stall over there." He indicated an empty stall on the right.

"You come far?"

"Quite a ways," Chester was non-committal. He remembered when he and Mr. Dillon had ridden to Elkader to track down Carey Post. The marshal had never told anyone in the town who they were, or what they were doing, until they found Cicero and persuaded him to confront Joe Phy.

The stable worker took the hint - it wasn't unusual for people to ride in and not want to say where they had come from. He would like to know a name just so he knew who to look for if they never came back to claim their horse. That's what had happened with that buckskin over there.

"Hugh Tebbers," he said as he reached out a hand to introduce himself.

Chester had to respond. "Wesley Meeks," he said trying to swallow his words. He had noticed the horse in the end stall. "Good looking animal there," he said walking towards it. It was definitely his boss's horse.

"Yeh, the owner brought him in several days ago. Came to check on him once or twice, but I haven't seen him in a couple of days now. May have to sell the animal off, to pay for his board, if he don't show up soon."

"Oh, don't do that!" Chester tried not to appear too anxious. "I could do with a mount like that. I'll cover his board for now."

"Just as you like, mister. So far he owes one dollar and fifty cents."

Fortunately Chester had taken some money from the petty cash box in the office safe before he'd set off from Dodge. He handed over three dollars.

"That should keep both of them for a while."

Tebbers looked at him strangely. "You know that horse? It was a big fella rode in on him."

"Yeh,... I...er... met up with him on the trail some days back." Chester wasn't very good at lying. "I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later, and then I'll get my money back."

"It's your money." Tebbers walked away while Chester untacked his horse and rubbed him down. When Tebbbers was out of sight he went to look at the saddle on the rack next to the buckskin - it was all there except for the saddle bags. No blood or anything unusual which meant that Dillon was somewhere in town. It wasn't like him not to check on the horse or pay for his board. Something was wrong.

"Where's a good place to stay in this town?" he called out to the stableman.

"You can get a room at the boarding house just back of here. It's reasonable."

Chester had no Idea where to start looking for Mr. Dillon. Maybe he would try the saloons, Mr. Dillon always seemed to think that was a good place to start. All evening the jailer walked the town, looking in every saloon, but found no sign that the marshal had ever been here.

At a loss to know what to do next, Chester found himself wandering into the Red Slipper saloon. It was seedy place with a floor that looked as if it hadn't been swept in weeks. The bar was sticky with dried beer stains, and the air was heavy with stale whisky and sweat. Chester ordered a beer and took it to an empty table in a dark corner. He had to think. He hadn't been sitting there long when a saloon girl came up to him. She wasn't young or pretty; her dress was torn and her hair unkempt.

"You want some company, Mister," she asked him through a forced smile."

Chester couldn't help but think that, in Dodge City, she wouldn't even have been good enough to work at the Texas Trail. Still, he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"Yeh, sit down if you want to, Ma'am. I'm pretty much broke, but I can buy y' a beer if you make it last."

She sat down next to him and patted his hand. Chester didn't really know what to do and took refuge in signaling to the barkeep to bring another beer.

"My name's Fleur," she informed him as the beer arrived.

He had to think a minute, "Wesley Meeks," he replied trying to hide his face behind the beer mug. He always had difficulty telling a lie.

"I've seen you goin' around town, Wesley. Looks like you're huntin' for something, or maybe someone."

"So maybe I am." Chester took a gulp of his beer, noticing that the mug it had been served in, had a chip out of the rim and didn't look it had been washed in a month.

Chester thought the girl was a little nervous. She kept looking around as if watching for someone. She began rubbing his arm, then quietly leaned over as if she was going to kiss him. He almost pulled away before she whispered in his ear, "Maybe I can help."

He was stunned for a moment and looked at her. She began to wrap her arms around his neck. Chester wasn't quite sure what to do. "Tell me who you're looking for, quickly now."

"Ma'am?" he repeated while trying to pull away. "I..umh...I don't..." He was somewhat embarrassed by her actions and didn't know what to say.

"I might have seen the man." At last she pulled away from him. After a breath or two, she laughed as if she was enjoying his company. "Try to look like you're having a good time. Someone might be watching."

Chester wasn't sure how to look like he was having a good time. "Look, lady I don't know what you're talking about." Then he noticed the bruises on her face and neck, hidden under carefully applied make-up. It looked like she'd been roughed up by someone. He knew Mr. Dillon wouldn't have done that.

"I got those marks because I wouldn't talk about him. You need to listen to me; he needs all the help he can get."

Chester looked at her. Had he found a friend or someone trying to get information?

"He told me his name was Matt."

Chester's eyes got bigger. Surely Mr. Dillon hadn't been...well...talking, with this woman.

"I see you're interested." She was back to stroking his arm. She leaned into his face. "Meet me in the alley behind the stable in two hours when I get off from here. Hugh Tebbers told me about you. He said you recognized the man's horse. I've been waiting all evening for you to find your way in here. Now put some money on the table and leave. Tell me you're not interested so that everyone can hear you."

Chester didn't know what else to do except follow her instructions.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 6

Matt woke up feeling a little groggy - then he remembered the fight and meeting the man named Carp. He must have passed out because now he was alone, laying on a rusty cot with a thin mattress and an even thinner blanket. He looked around, hearing voices but seeing no-one. It took only a minute for him to realize that he was in a jail cell. Carefully he got up from the cot, holding his side where a boot had landed earlier, and tested the cell door. As expected it was locked. He was going to call out, but decided against it because, right now, he needed time to think. He wondered if Chester had got his telegram and if he was he still sitting out there by the fishing hole, waiting. Knowing his assistant, he could even be riding into town looking for him. Matt knew he needed to get out of here and warn him. Chester was a good man and loyal as they come. Trouble was, left to his own devices, he often finished up in some kind of trouble, and this town was full of trouble - the bad kind.

 _Matt was never sure if trouble always seemed to find Chester, or if it was the other way around. He well remembered the time they had headed out looking for Doc. Doc had never shown up at Jake Wirth's ranch as he was supposed to. The two of them had set out to follow his trail to make sure nothing had happened to the physician. At one point, the trail forked, and Matt couldn't be sure which route Doc had taken. The answer had been for them to split up and meet again at Emmett Bowers' ranch. Of course, the trail Chester took led him to trouble and a knife wound at the hands of an outlaw by the name of Dack. Luck like that could only happen to Chester. Matt looked on the jailer as a younger brother for whose safety he was responsible. He hoped his assistant would be careful. Right now he, himself, was the one with a problem - but it was Chester who he worried about._

He went back to the cot, and gingerly stretched out his long form. He wondered why they were keeping him here, alive. Killing a US Marshal would bring all available lawmen down on these men, but he didn't think that fact would deter them much.

After a while he was wakened from a half sleep by the clanking of keys in the cell door. He looked up to see Farrell standing there.

"Don't try anything, Marshal. One word from me and Mr. Carp will be in here."

"I'm not up to much right now anyway," Matt told him, trying to look more injured than he was.

"I brung you some supper. Mr. Holcombe wants you kept alive, so I guess we'll have to feed ya."

Matt decided to get as much information as possible out of this man. He was certainly not the brains of the outfit, but may be familiar with what was going on.

"How did you find out who I am?" He had a vague memory of his badge being picked up by Farrell, but the question would give him an opportunity to start the conversation.

"Oh, that part was easy, your badge fell out of yer pocket. I found it and told Mr. Carp." There was a pride in the man's voice that lead Matt to believe that Farrell was always trying to impress his boss, maybe trying to show him he was not such a no-body."

"That was smart of you, Farrell. Why are they keeping me here?"

Farrell said nothing for a moment, then looked around to make sure no-one was behind him. Matt made note of the movement. Farrell was scared of his boss, on top of everything else.

"I'm not supposed to say anything, but I do know. Mr. Carp relies on me a lot, ya' know." Now he was trying to prove that he was in with the top man.

Matt sank back onto the hard cot. "I don't want to get you into trouble with your boss, then again maybe you don't know much more than I do."

Farrell looked around again and came closer, close enough that Matt could probably have taken him down then and there, but now was not the time. He wouldn't get far before they killed him outright.

"I do know. I know that Mr. Holcombe's brother got out of prison and he wants to deal with you himself."

"Oh," Matt commented thoughtfully, nodding his head, trying to show admiration for Farrell's skills. "I see now. Clever of you to catch that."

Farrell was about to bask in the glow of the compliment but a voice from the outer office called him.

"Farrell! What's taking you so long! You just need to take the food in there and leave."

"Oh! yes, Mr. Carp, I'm coming."

Matt smiled at him. "He sure bosses you around a lot."

Farrell was now in too much of a hurry to say anything. He put the tin plate on the floor and scurried from the cell, locking the door behind him."

Matt looked at the food. Not too bad, he surmised. At least it would keep the wolf from the door for now.

()()()

Chester was a little nervous of meeting Fleur in the alley behind the stable, but after the two hours had passed he picked up his rifle, and headed out. The alleyways behind all these saloons were very much like the ones in Dodge, no lamps, and dark corners filled with empty barrels and stacks of used packing boxes. It made for plenty of places for someone to hide. As he left the main street, he tripped over an empty whisky bottle, sending several more, clanging noisily deeper into the darkness. He stopped and looked around. Fortunately there was so much noise coming from the saloon that no one seemed to have noticed. He picked himself up slowly and waited for a moment in the dark, listening for approaching footsteps. Hearing nothing new, he squared his shoulders and, still clutching the Winchester Rifle in a slightly sweaty hand, made his way deeper into the shadows. He walked along the backs of several buildings, staying close to the walls, until he figured he was near the stable. He stopped and looked around, not able to see much in the darkness.

He had almost made it to the back doors. He noted a wagon and several buggies parked there and carefully picked his way between them. He was trying to avoid getting close to anything that could provide someone with a good hiding place. He knew that when Mr. Dillon made late night rounds, he always encountered situations like this, but somehow the marshal had the ability to handle anything that came along. Chester was a little scared. He knew his fighting abilities were very limited, not that he wouldn't try, but his chance of success would be small, compared to that of his boss.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He began to raise the rifle as his heart beat faster.

"Just be quiet," a voice said. "I'm here to help. Come inside."

The door opened just a little, and Chester was pushed inside the stable. For a moment the brighter light of the interior stung his eyes, but as soon as they adapted, he could see Hugh Tebbers, the owner, standing there grinning at him.

"You come prepared, don't you?" The man was smiling and pointing at the rifle.

Chester was confused.

"I figured you knew that horse too well, probably know his owner too," Tebbers continued by way of explanation.

Chester didn't say anything. He was looking around thinking of the time Marshal Dillon had been ambushed in Moss Grimmick's stable, in Dodge. Joe Lime had been waiting there to kill him. He looked around but there was no Joe Lime here. Instead, Fleur, the woman he had met earlier in the Red Slipper Saloon, was standing there. She was smiling at him at first, but then got serious.

"Hugh saw what happened to your friend the other night." She was watching his face as she said the words.

"I…er…that is..." Chester knew he was no good at pretense, but struggled for a suitable answer. He couldn't think of one.

"Come on, Chester, we know who you are, and why you're here." Hugh was seated on a bale of hay now, quite relaxed, and pleased with himself. Chester was anything but relaxed; he had no clue what to say or how to handle this.

"My name's Wesley Meeks," he managed to say, with a slight stammer and a little forced dignity in his voice.

"Let me explain." The man known as Hugh Tebbers stood up and came towards him. Chester was ready for a fight, but it didn't happen. "A few days ago, your tall friend came to town. He spent a lot of time walking around and asking questions. He even talked to Fleur here, telling her he was a friend of the old sheriff and wanted to know what happened to him. Later, he sent a telegram to Chester Goode in Dodge City. We didn't know who Chester Goode was, but figured when the tall man on the buckskin horse didn't show up at that fishing hole, he'd be riding into town." Tebbers finished with a hard stare at the man with the stiff leg. Chester felt that was all the man saw of him. He could almost feel him thinking, how can this man with a lame leg be of any use? Somehow he would prove them wrong. Mr. Dillon never thought of him like that!

Tebbers continued, "A man called Johnny Billings is the telegraph operator here in town. He's the one who told us to be on the lookout for you."

"Do you know where Mr. Dillon is?" the jailer finally managed to ask. He couldn't help but wonder why the telegraph operator would tell anyone the contents of a wire.

Tebbers looked at Fleur, letting her take over the explanation.

"Great Bend has been in trouble for a while," she started. "It used to be a quiet town when Sheriff Hicks was here. He didn't allow crooked gamblers or gunslingers to set up home here. Then Tad Holcombe arrived. He started setting up rigged games in The Painted Lady, which, up till then, had been the best saloon in town. The sheriff threw him out, but a few days later Holcombe came back with Trent Carp, and a little after that, Hicks and his deputy were found dead. Now, between the two of them, they have taken over all the saloons in town and many of the other businesses too. The people who still run their own places are being squeezed out. Trent wants to own the whole town so he can charge whatever he wants. Eventually people will leave, and the town will die. Then he'll just move on and do it all again. Meantime he is making money from the gambling tables and poker games and also from many of the genuine operations in town. If anyone goes against him, they will probably wind up being found dead in an alley too."

 _Chester had accompanied Mr. Dillon when they went to Elkader to find a man called Shippen. The whole town had been so scared of him that they wouldn't talk to the marshal for fear of being cornered by Shippen's men. His boss had figured a way to trap the outlaw, and it worked. Chester knew he couldn't pull off a bluff like that, but if Dillon was here, he would know what to do. Chester had to come up with something._

"So where's Mr. Dillon now?"

"Is that the name of your friend? He'd only told Fleur that his name was Matt."

"That's right, Matthew Dillon. He's the marshal for the whole State of Kansas." There was a sense of pride in Chester's voice.

"Are you his deputy?" Tebbers was curious - no doubt because of Chester's leg.

"No, but i work for him, an' all"

Tebbers decided it was time to tell what he knew.

"Your marshal came here two nights ago to check on his horse, but before he got through he was jumped by four or five of Carp's men. He fought them off for a while, but eventually they had him down."

"You didn't go to help him?" Chester was horrified.

"There was nothing I could do. There's a few of us still left in town who would fight Carp's men, but not enough to do any serious damage."

"So where's Mr. Dillon now?"

It was Fleur who supplied the answer. "I think they have him locked in the jail. Carp wanted him killed, but for some reason, Holcombe wants him kept alive. I don't know much more than that."

"How'd you figure all that, ma'am?"

"I work in a saloon, Chester. Men tell me all kinds of things - it's part of my job." She batted her eyes at him as if to demonstrate her abilities. Chester blushed. He didn't like to think about Fleur and her job.

"How many folks in town might be willin' to help us."

Tebbers spoke up, "Well there's Fleur, Johnny Billings, me, and then Charlie Benson, the younger brother of Bill Benson, the deputy who was killed."

"Is that all?" Chester wasn't all that good at math, but to his mind that was only five people. It looked like Carp had at least a dozen men, all armed with rifles and pistols. These people certainly needed some help, and he was the only one around to fill that role. He wasn't sure what he could do, but felt that it was his responsibility to at least come up with a plan.

"The first thing we gotta do is to get Mr. Dillon outta that jail."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"For starters, how many people are guarding the jail?"

"It varies," Fleur supplied, "Mostly they just leave that fool Farrell and another man, whose name I don't know. Farrell is pretty fast with the gun, and he tends to shoot first and ask questions later, but the other man is little more than a kid and probably too scared to do much."

"Is there a back door to the jail, Ma'am?"

Fleur couldn't help but smile because Chester called her, "ma'am".

"No," Tebbers provided the answer. "Just one way in and out."

"So how do we make sure Carp and Holcombe are not there?"

"At night, Holcombe likes to prowl the saloons making sure all his dealers are working. Sometimes Carp will leave early if all is quiet or if someone needs him to stop an argument over a card game.

Chester sat down on an old bench, which was set alongside one of the stall walls. He had to think. He looked down at what appeared to be a picnic basket sitting on the floor nearby and realized he was hungry. No man could think well on an empty stomach.

Fleur caught his gaze. "Hugh and I ate supper," she explained, "just some sandwiches and a little wine."

Food and wine. That gave him an idea.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 7

Fleur felt quite enamored with Chester as she walked away from the livery. At first she had not been too impressed by the man with the stiff leg, but having listened to his plan she decided that not only was he smart, he was brave as well. It took someone with courage to do what Chester intended. He was planning to get himself arrested so he would be locked in the jail, hopefully only for one night. That would give him chance to check that Mr. Dillon was there, and see if he was fit to travel. Meantime she was to put together another picnic basket, complete with wine. Chester was hoping that Farrell would confiscate the basket and eat and drink the contents, which would make their job a lot easier.

Fleur told him that she had some sleeping powders stashed away. She sometimes used them to ensure that her 'customers' slept well, thus enabling her to collect her pay and, she had to admit, sometimes a little extra. She had learned by experience that the powders dissolved easily in wine and hardly changed the taste at all - not that any of these cowboys knew how wine should taste anyway. Long ago, so long it seemed as if it had been in a different lifetime, she had dined on fine food and wine. Now look at her. The downward slide had happened all too quickly, and, thanks to men like Carp and Farrell, the place she was at now had become her new standard. She thought she had reached the bottom, and there was no hope for her. Then someone decent, like Chester and his boss, Marshal Dillon, came along, and she remembered how honest people lived.

It was well after midnight when Chester entered the Aces High saloon. It was still a hive of activity. Four poker tables were going strong and all had large stacks of money on display. There was a Faro table along the back wall, attracting the attention of about a dozen cowboys who, he thought, must be from local ranches, because they sure didn't look like they had just ridden up from Texas. He hadn't decided how he was going to make this work, but to start with he staggered a little as he walked to the bar and then ordered a whisky in a loud voice.

Seeming to be unsteady on his feet he bumped into a cowboy who was peacefully drinking a beer at the bar. As intended the beer spilled, and the man turned on him, pulling his gun.

"Whoa there, mister!" Chester slurred. "Look! I'm not wearing a gun. Just an accident, that's all it was." With that, he fell, bumping into the man again. "Well, I swan," he slurred,"I'm as clumsy as a bear tonight. Hey, now you don't haffta get all het up over a little spilled beer." He gave a loud hiccough followed by a drunken laugh, but the man whose beer he'd spilled wasn't laughing. He started throwing punches. Chester did his best not to get beat-up too bad, while, at the same time, trying to land a punch or two himself. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a voice calling for the sheriff, and before long, he was being pulled away from the bar by two of Carp's men. He found himself being dragged along the street towards the jail. He knew he had a few bruises but wasn't as badly hurt as he made out.

Much to his delight, he found himself being pushed roughly into an empty cell.

"You just stay there, mister, till you sober up. Then you'll have to leave town. Mr. Carp don't tolerate no troublemakers like you here."

Chester laid back gratefully on the old cot. "Don't you worry none, I ain't going nowhere," he called as he heard the lock on the cell door fall into place.

The cell was filthy, and he certainly didn't plan on staying longer than necessary. "Hey!" he yelled again to the men as they began to leave, "Is this the best room ya got? And ya won't ferget to bring breakfast in the morning, will yer?"

He laughed and hiccoughed again - just for effect, but the men were already leaving. When he heard the footsteps retreat as the door to the cells closed, he carefully sat up and looked around. There were three cells - just like in Dodge, but these were in much worse condition.

There was only one other cell with someone in it. The occupant was so long that his feet hung off the end of the cot. Chester stood up and listened. He could hear voices coming from beyond the door, but none seemed to be headed his way. He walked to the bars and stopped to look around and listen again.

"Mr. Dillon," he finally called in a loud whisper. "Is that you?"

The form on the cot sat up slowly. For a moment there was silence.

"Chester?" Matt sat there, looking around in amazement. "How did you get here?"

"It's kind of a long story, Mr. Dillon, but me and some friends are gonna git you outta here; then we can head on back to Dodge."

"I can't leave until I take Carp. He's wearing a badge that he's got no right to, and he's abusing what it stands for. I have to stop him."

"We'll hep ya, Mr. Dillon. There's a lot of people in town who would like to see him gone. They just ain't got the courage to do anything about it. I reckon they'll listen to you though."

For the first time Chester noticed the groggy look in his boss's eyes.

"You alright, Mr. Dillon?" There was concern in his voice.

"I'll be fine, Chester - just a little tired, that's all," he lied, even as the pain of a broken rib or two kept him from moving around.

"You git yourself some sleep, and leave it all to me. We'll git ya outta here, don't you worry none."

There was silence between the two men mostly because they didn't have much more to say and certainly didn't want to attract the attention of Carp's men. Eventually both slipped into an uneasy sleep. Matt, as a course of habit, only let himself doze for short spells here and there, while Chester, after a short while, could be heard snoring quite loudly.

()()()

Morning was ushered in with a slamming of doors and clanging of metal. Farrell appeared on the scene waving a ring of keys.

"Wake up, stranger!" He undid the lock to Chester's cell, making twice as much noise as necessary. "It's time for you to leave town. Mr. Carp doesn't like drunks who cause trouble and he doesn't like feeding them either. If you're still here after noon today, he'll probably shoot you, so my advice is to leave."

Chester managed to stand up, stumbling a little as if he was still getting over a drunk. It wasn't all fake; he felt stiff and cold after an uncomfortable night. He noticed that his boss barely stirred in spite of all the commotion.

Farrell hurried him out through the front office and pushed him roughly onto the street.

"Be on your way!" he called loudly as he threw Chester's hat out the door after him.

Chester had stumbled to the ground, but hastily picked himself up, looking around to check that no one was watching. The town seemed used to such happenings, and no one even stopped what they were doing to glance his way. He dusted himself off, and half hopped, half ran, to the stable. He could hear Farrell laughing at him from back inside the Sheriff's office. He remembered how other people used to laugh at him - until Mr. Dillon came along that is. Now folks in Dodge saw him differently, and no one laughed anymore.

()()()

Chester had saddled his horse and made a show of leaving town, but as afternoon came he quietly made his way to the place described by Hugh and Fleur. They planned their meeting in a disused farm house just south of town, not far from the Arkansas River. Hugh had come across the old building some while ago and kept it in mind as a meeting place if ever he could get enough people together to do something about Carp and his men.

Chester hated to see a woman having to be involved in something as dangerous as this, but Fleur didn't seem worried. He knew things could easily go wrong but couldn't think of any other way. She would prepare a very appetizing picnic basket and add a good-looking bottle of wine, with one of the powders she mentioned she had, added to it. Chester went over the plans with her.

"Miss Fleur, ya have to be mighty careful now. Mr. Dillon wouldn't like it one bit if ya was ta get hurt. All you have ta do is to wait till that man Farrell is asleep, then open the door, and take off runnin fast as you can. Hugh will be waiting across the street with fresh horses. You come and git one and high tail it out here. Now, Miss Fleur, it won't be safe for you once they find out what's happened, so you need to ride fast as ya can. I'll get Mr. Dillon, then Tebbers and I will bring the marshal and we'll all meet up back here. Then we'll see what Mr. Dillon wants to do."

Chester wasn't used to organizing others. He was more a follower than a leader. He knew that, but now the man he usually followed was in trouble and needed his help. Somehow or other, he would stand up and play his part.

"Don't worry, Chester, I can handle Farrell." Carp's man had used her services several times since he had been in town. She didn't like him, but at least he paid and didn't hurt her too bad - usually. She still had bruises around her neck from when he had tried to question her about Dillon, but in her line of work that was an accepted part of the job.

()()()

It was late into the night, and Chester had been waiting in an alley near the jail. One of Carp's men was standing in front of the building, keeping watch. Somehow he would manage to take him out, but wasn't sure how. He had seen one other man, probably Carp, leave the jail so knew that Farrell was now alone. He signaled to Fleur that it was time to go. He watched her as she walked into the street, then approached Carp's guard. She stood talking to him, laughing and keeping his attention. Slowly it dawned on Chester what she was doing. The man was so distracted, by her manner and her very revealing dress that the marshal's assistant was able to come up behind him and bring the rifle butt down on the back of his head. The man never even turned around, just fell quietly to the ground.

"Miss Fleur, that was an awful dangerous thing ta do. He might have grabbed you and…. well…"

She laughed quietly and raised a hand to his blushing cheeks. "I can handle men, Chester. Don't worry so much."

With that, she swung the picnic basket over her arm and headed inside the Sheriff's office. Chester picked up the guard by his shoulders and dragged him back into the alley.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 8

Trent Carp felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched the man with the stiff leg ride out of town. It was good to know his name alone could intimidate someone. Of course a man with a crippled leg, who didn't even carry a gun, wasn't really much of a threat. The man he had locked in the jail cell, that U.S. Marshal, now that was another problem all together. He should have let his men finish him off the night they found him, but Holcombe wanted to wait because his brother had a score to settle with the lawman. He had to let the gambler have his way - after all he did bring a lot of money into the town.

It was later that evening when he strode into the office he had so easily usurped from Sheriff John Hicks. He found Farrell and that young kid who helped him, playing checkers. They hurriedly put the board away and stood up from the desk when he arrived.

"So this is how you spend your time when I'm not around." He was angry to think he paid these worthless people good money.

"There's not much to do right now, sir," Farrell said as he indicated for his young helper to leave. The door closed behind him and Carp calmed down a bit.

"I saw that crippled drunk leaving town this morning, so I guess you did your job on that. How about that marshall back there. Has he given you any trouble?"

"No, Sir. I hardly hear anything from him."

To Carp, that didn't seem right. From all he had heard about United States marshals, they didn't give up easily. In his opinion, most of them were murdering scum anyway, but that didn't make him worry any less. He held out his hand towards Farrell.

"Give me the keys, I want to go talk to him."

Farrell obediently opened the desk drawer and handed over a collection of keys on a large ring.

"You want me to come with you?"

Carp almost sneered. "Unlike you, I don't need a whole posse behind me to face one marshal."

With that comment still in the air, he grabbed the keys and headed to the cells with quick purposeful strides. He planned to confront this upstart marshal and show him who was boss around here.

Carp had expected that his important prisoner would be standing at the bars demanding to be released. On the contrary, the man was relaxed, lying back on the old cot as if he had no care in the world.

"You're Dillon, aren't you?" he demanded.

"You seem to have that figured out." Matt's voice was calm. He was determined to sit up and face Carp. His bruised and broken ribs would get in the way, but he would not let this despicable excuse for a man, see that.

"Spike Holcombe is out of prison," Carp stated, hoping to get some kind of reaction from the man in front of him.

"So I heard," Matt replied as calmly as if the man had been describing the lunch menu at Delmonico's.

"He's got it in for you, Dillon. He wants us to keep you around till he gets here, otherwise you'd be dead already."

Again Matt showed very little reaction. Without allowing the pain he was feeling to show on his face, he stood up and walked towards the bars. He noted with a sense of pleasure that Carp took a step back.

"You don't scare me, Carp, and neither does Spike Holcombe. I made my peace with death a long time ago, but you'll find yourself in a pretty bad way if I should disappear. People know where I am, and more lawmen an deputies will come looking for you if I don't return. Your luck will run out eventually."

There was such a cold intensity in the blue eyes that Carp could physically feel it. There was no way he could enter that cell now. In spite of the fact that he held the upper hand, he felt intimidated. He hadn't meant to move away from the bars - it gave Dillon an advantage - but somehow he hadn't been able to make his feet stand their ground. Although this marshal was his prisoner, he didn't have the power over him he was used to having over other men. All he had left was his threats - and even they didn't seem to make much impression on the tall lawman. If he had his way, he would pull his gun and kill him right here, but then he would have to face the Holcombe brothers - and that could make him come off the worse for wear. In the end, all he could do was issue a warning, and, he had to admit, that sounded pretty weak.

"You just wait, Dillon. You'll regret the day you came to Great Bend."

Dillon didn't want Carp to have the last word.

"Just tell me that again, Carp, when I arrest you for the murder of John Hicks." His voice was not loud but it had such an undertone of determination that for a moment, Carp almost feared that somehow the marshal would find a way to do what he said. Rather than face this man, he turned and tried to put strength into his stride as he left the cells. He threw the keys onto the desk where Farrell was still standing.

"I'll be at the Aces High if you need me." His words were mumbled, but it made Farrell smile to himself - obviously Carp's encounter with the marshal hadn't gone the way he planned. Farrell went back to sitting behind the desk and, knowing that Carp would probably not return for several hours, he propped his feet up and leaned back in the chair. He had just about got comfortable when the door opened. He almost jumped to his feet, fearing that Carp had returned for some reason. But it wasn't Carp - it was Fleur.

She looked coyly around the door. Seeing Farrell was the only one around, she entered and closed the door quietly behind her. She placed the basket on the desk and fluttered her eyes a little at Carp's right hand man.

"Hi, Pete, they left you all alone tonight?"

"What do you want?"

"I brought some supper for your prisoner. He paid me quite well and I figured I could make his life a little more pleasant."

The man reached across the desk and grabbed her arm.

"What about me, Fleur? Don't I always pay you well?"

"Oh yes, indeed you do." It was all she could do not to wrench her arm away from his clammy grasp.

"So why does he get all the favors? He ain't gonna be around much longer anyway." He lifted up the red and white-checkered napkin that covered the basket. Inside there were some biscuits and ham, and a bottle of wine.

"How about you and I have a little picnic of our own?"

"I don't know." She didn't want to appear too eager. "I really put this together for him."

Fleur tried to take the basket from the desk, but he grabbed at it.

"Where'd you get those biscuits? I know you didn't make them."

"I can cook when it suits, " she replied, "I just ain't had no reason to cook for you."

Farrell got up and brought two mugs to the desk, "I think you and I need to sample this wine. It looks too good for a man who ain't got that long to live."

He sat back at the desk and pulled her onto his lap, running his hands over her bare shoulders.

"Don't do that, Pete, you know what it does to me." It took all she had to act the part. The very touch of this man repulsed her, but he had paid her well in the past, and she needed him to want her now.

"Yeh, that's what I thought. Maybe we should try a little of that wine - maybe it'll loosen you up a bit. Come on Fleur - you ain't never fought me off before."

"That's because you were paying me." She didn't want to give in too easily, but didn't want him to get mad at her either. This man could be rough if he didn't get his way.

Farrell reached in his pocket and pulled out some coins. He threw them on the table.

"Whore!" he cried.

She gathered up the coins and hastily put them in the pocket of her dress.

"Maybe you should start with some food before I open the wine - it's pretty strong you know."

Farrell laughed. Just open the wine now, and let's have some fun before Carp comes back."

She managed to get away from his grasp and open the wine bottle. She poured a healthy size drink into his cup and just a small one into her own. He laughed.

"You always were one for the booze, Fleur - we'll have a little fun tonight.

There were plates in the basket, and she pulled them out and placed the ham slices on one, and biscuits on another. The ham was extra salty and would make him drink. She knew he had no manners and would gobble down the food without leaving much for her. She sipped slowly on her wine, trying to look like she was drinking more than she really was. She knew a little of the doctored drink wouldn't have much effect on her.

He ate and drank as she expected, and she kept pouring more wine into his cup. Then she began to get worried. His hand was on her thigh, and although he had consumed almost the whole bottle of wine, he showed no sign of slowing down.

"Wait, Pete, it's not very comfortable here, I can't give you the good time I usually do. Why don't we go back to my place."

"I can't leave here, not with that prisoner back there. Suppose you do the best you can." His mouth was nuzzling her neck. She tried to get up from his lap but his hands were all over her. Eventually she got loose and ran around to the other side of the desk as if in a game.

"Come get me," she teased. He didn't stop to think, just thrust himself up from the chair to come after her. He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly on his feet.

"What was in that wine?" It was as if his befuddled mind had suddenly figured out what was going on.

"Nothing, just wine, I told you it was strong."

All of a sudden, it was if his legs crumpled. He fell to the floor in a collapsed heap. He was too heavy for her to move on her own, so she left him where he fell and went to the door. Chester would be watching for her signal. It was less than a minute before he was standing beside her.

"I thought you were never going to call me, Miss Fleur." He was flustered, hoping that the lady had not had to get too involved with Carp's hired gun. "Did he give you any problem?"

She couldn't believe that this man was really concerned for her safety.

"No," she lied."No problem."

"You head across the street now. Tebbers has a horse all saddled for ya. We'll all catch up with ya shortly.

Chester grabbed the keys and went back to release his boss.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 9

Matt had watched as Carp left the cells. He knew he'd had the desired effect on the man, but he'd paid a heavy price for it. His ribs were hurting so badly now that it was hard to take even a shallow breath, let alone a deep one. He eased himself back to the rusty cot and carefully sat down. Eventually he found the strength to raise his feet up onto the bed and lay back. It took an effort but at last he managed to relax, close his eyes, and wait for the worst of the pain to subside.

Maybe he dozed off for a while. He could hear voices coming from out front. A man's voice that he recognized as belonging to Farrell, and a woman who he thought was Fleur. What was she doing? It sounded almost as if she was flirting with the man who Carp had left to guard the jail. He managed to sit himself up, trying to hear what was going on. The conversation got louder. He wasn't able to make out words, but from the tone, he could guess what was happening. Suddenly there came a thud, as if something heavy had landed on the floor. Then for a few moments, nothing, just a deathly silence. Not being able to see what was happening was the ultimate frustration for him. Maybe Fleur was hurt. He was helpless to do anything at all, and that didn't sit well with the lawman. A few endless minutes passed before the door to the cell area opened. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn't Chester, who was somehow standing there now.

"Mr. Dillon, we're here to rescue you." Dillon's assistant gazed at him earnestly, adding "Just like I promised ya." For Chester, he seemed surprisingly calm as he went through several keys looking for the right one to open the cell door. Finally, the lock clicked back. Matt had got up from the cot and walked somewhat carefully towards Chester.

"You hurt Mr. Dillon?"

"Just a bit sore. I'll be fine."

"We've got horses outside, all ready to go."

"Chester," Matt instructed, "before we leave, put that guard in here and lock the door, and then see if you can find my gun."

"There's another man outside too. I had t' hit 'im over the head, Mr. Dillon. What ya want me to do with him?"

"Better lock him up as well."

As far as they could tell, no one outside on the street had noticed anything strange - or if they had, they hadn't raised any alarm. The three men mounted up and headed off with Tebbers in the lead.

The ride to the old nester's shack, which they planned to use as a temporary hideout, seemed long and painful for Matt. Once or twice he nearly fell from his horse. The second time Chester had come up alongside and steadied him.

"Hang on, Mr. Dillon. We're almost there."

Dillon brushed his remark off. "I'll be fine," he assured his assistant and tried to sit up a little straighter.

Once they got to the deserted farm house, Chester helped his boss inside while Tebbers went to hide the horses out back.

The shack only had one room. A tattered piece of fabric hung across one corner to curtain off a sleeping area. There was no bed or even a mattress. Instead the remnants of a faded quilt lay crumpled on the floor.

"Mr. Dillon, there's not much here to make you comfortable. I'll clean out that corner there and bring in a saddle blanket and bedroll t' make a pallet. Maybe you 'll be able to rest a spell."

Chester looked around - the only furniture in the place was two chairs and a table, and none of it looked in very good repair. He picked up one of the chairs and checked to see if it was safe to use, then he set it next to the table.

"You jest set down here, Mr. Dillon, an' I'll take care of things."

Matt was about to object - but Chester seemed to be taking charge of the situation, and this was something he wanted to watch. If he had to admit it, the ride had taken a toll on him. Sitting here watching gave him a chance to recover, as well as decide what they needed to do next.

Chester had arranged a bedroll and saddle in the corner, hoping it would at least be somewhere his boss could be fairly comfortable. Meantime Fleur had arrived and Hugh Tebbers had taken care of the horses.

Chester helped his boss over to the corner and made him as comfortable as possible, easing him onto the bed-roll with his back leaning against the saddle.

"Are y' all right there, Mr. Dillon?"

"Yes, I'm fine Chester."

"You want me to ride for Doc, or find a wagon to take ya back to Dodge, or anythin?"

"I came here to find the man who killed Sheriff Hicks, and we're not going home without him. Before all this happened, I was planning to bring Carp to you, so you could take him back to Dodge. Then I was going to get Holcombe and wait for his brother to arrive." Talking was becoming quite painful so Matt stopped to take a breath or two.

"Whatta ya want me t' do?" Chester was concerned. The marshal looked in no shape to go face the likes of Carp and Holcombe. "Maybe I could send Tebbers for Doc."

"No, Chester. You're going to need all the help you can get right here." He stopped to take a couple of shallow breaths. He knew from experience that shallow breaths wouldn't hurt as bad as breathing deeply.

"If we can take Carp, I think his followers….will not have much stomach for a fight." Again he stopped for a minute. No one interrupted. "Tad Holcombe somehow arranged for his brother to escape from prison, probably by using money from his gambling tables. We have to get both of them, Chester."

The talking had exhausted him, and Chester watched as his boss used the saddle to rest against, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He figured it was up to him now. He certainly wasn't used to taking charge - but the sooner he could carry out the marshal's instructions, the sooner they could get back to Dodge. He looked around at his two companions, still considering sending Tebbers to Dodge. Maybe he could bring back a few more men, but that could take days, and right now Carp would be looking for them, and he had a whole army of men to back him up him. Like Mr. Dillon had said, they had to get Carp quickly.

Chester had been sitting on the floor next to his boss while Tebbers and Fleur sat at the table. Vaguely he had an idea. He knew that, by this time Farrell would have told Carp that Fleur was involved - but there was a good chance that no-one knew about Hugh Tebbers.

Tebbers spoke up. "Maybe I could ride out to the Hancock ranch, Chester. He has about fifteen or twenty men working for him, and I know he'd be happy to see Carp taken down - he was a friend of Sheriff Hicks."

Chester considered his idea. "How long do ya' reckon that'd take?" he asked.

"Probably three hours each way to ride, then maybe a day for him to gather up all his men."

Chester thought that was too long. Besides, with that many men, who knew if any were friendly with Carp? "What about that telegraph operator?" He was more or less thinking aloud, "You think he could be trusted?"

"I think so," Tebbers replied. "After all he sent that telegram for the marshal and never told anyone - he got beat up for it too."

"Mr. Dillon, how long a ride is it from Hays City?"

Matt opened his eyes briefly and looked at his assistant, "Maybe a day and a half, at most, with fresh horses."

Still too long. Chester knew that by first light, Carp would have his men out searching for them. He figured they had a day at most before being found. He had an idea. It was dangerous, but that had never stopped him from helping Mr. Dillon before.

"Hugh, do you think Carp suspects you of helping us?"

"I don't think so - he doesn't like me much, but I don't think he knows I am set against him any more than other folks in town. He kinda tolerates us as long as we don't get in the way of his schemes."

Chester glanced at his boss again. He was still leaning back against the saddle with his eyes closed.

"Mr. Dillon, me and Tebbers gotta leave ya now. We got work to do."

Dillon looked up at him.

"Be careful, Chester. Remember, I need you around." Matt couldn't help but think about the last time he had let Chester go and take care of what was really his job. His assistant had nearly died after being dragged halfway across Kansas by Stobo and his friend Treavitt. Chester must remember it too, but here he was again, ready to risk his life for the marshal.

Chester let a half smile of pride invade his face.

""Miss Fleur, you stay right here and watch the marshal for me." He remembered the pistol he had gathered from the desk back in the sheriff's office, and pulled it from his belt to hand to his boss. " And Mr. Dillon, here's yer gun. Just in case they come here before we git back." Chester's gaze was unflinching. "I hope you don't hafta use it."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 10.

After Chester had left, Fleur brought one of the only two chairs in the cabin and set it next to where Matt was sitting on the floor, propped against his saddle.

"Anything I can do for you, Marshal?" It was not meant to be a seductive question. He could tell she was genuinely concerned.

"Maybe you can answer a question for me. Who arranged for Sheriff Hicks and his deputy to be killed like that?"

The woman thought for a moment. She had to admit she was scared of Carp and his friends. She would much rather throw her lot in with this man, but couldn't see how one or even two men could run Carp and all his people out of town. Still, she didn't have a lot to loose at this point. After all, Farrell had to know by now that she had helped Dillon escape from the jail.

"It was that gambler, Holcombe, who wanted the old sheriff out of the way. Mr. Hicks was trying to run him out of town. That's why Carp came to Great Bend. He had a deal with Holcombe. I think it was a man named Harris and another man, whose name I never knew, who actually did the killing. Harris was Carp's second in command at the time, but Farrell and Harris got in an argument and Harris lost. He's buried somewhere out there near the river. Farrell took over as Carp's lieutenant and soon after that the other killer left town. Farrell's not as smart as Harris was, but he is fast with that gun."

Dillon's eyes were closed as he rested his head back on the saddle, but he'd been listening to every word. He sat up a little and looked directly at Fleur.

"I'm planning to take Carp to trial, somehow. Will you get up in court and swear to that?"

"I'm scared he'd find some way to come after me." She was studying her finger nails hating to admit that she was still frightened of what that man would do to her.

"If I can take him alive, he'll be hanged, Fleur. He won't be able to come after you or anyone else."

"You don't know him, Marshal. He has a lot of friends."

"We'll see where his friends are when I have him locked up."

()()()

Chester and Hugh Tebbers left the farmhouse and walked in silence to where the horses were loose in a make-shift coral. As they were saddling their mounts, Chester outlined his idea.

"I need you to send a telegram to the Sheriff Ben Carver in Hays City asking him to send us two deputies. We'll need some help once we get Carp rounded up. When you send it, have the operator sign it Marshal Matt Dillon. The Sheriff is a good friend of Mr. Dillon's and will send help quickly."

"That makes sense, but how are we going to take Carp? He always has some of his men hanging around with him."

Chester thought for a moment. "I was hoping I could get him to follow me, then you and those two men you mentioned could jump him somewhere along the way."

"You mean an ambush?"

"Not exactly." Chester didn't really like the idea of an ambush, although he had been with Mr. Dillon a time or two when the marshal had resorted to that. Mr. Dillon usually liked to take his prisoners alive so they could stand trial for their crimes. "I'm hoping we can scare them enough that they give up and we don't have to kill anyone."

"What about Holcombe?"

"I'm not so sure, but I don't think he'll put up much of a fight by himself. Mr. Dillon is more worried about his brother, Spike, who escaped from prison. I'm hoping the deputies get here before he arrives."

"I don't know, Chester. It all sounds very risky."

"I've done riskier things with Mr. Dillon." The jailer tried to put as much confidence in his voice as he could muster. He hoped this would all turn out the way he figured. He'd watched some of the marshal's plans go wrong a time or two, and hoped his current endeavor wouldn't add to that number.

By now the horses were saddled and ready to go. Chester checked his Winchester rifle nestled in its scabbard, and made sure he had spare ammunition in his saddle bag. As a rule he didn't carry a pistol, but was quite a good shot with the rifle. Still, he couldn't just up a kill a man, even a man like Carp, without giving him a chance to defend himself.

They both mounted up and turned their horses towards the nearby trail that would lead back to town. The old farmhouse they were using was almost overgrown with prairie grasses and weeds, and unless someone knew where to look for it, they would most likely just ride on by.

They rode at a steady jog for almost a half hour, and Chester was about to tell Tebbers to ride on into town saying he would be along later. He didn't want Carp to see them together.

"Whoa!" said Chester, and Tebbers stopped to look at him. "Listen - horses coming. Let's get back off the road." There was an urgency in his voice that made Tebbers follow his new friend's instructions. They guided their mounts off the trail, and behind a stand of trees. The cover wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Chester had pulled his rifle from its scabbard and was crouching beside his horse.

"Get down!" he whispered to Tebbers, who didn't seem to realize what was going on. "Be quiet while we see who's comin'."

They waited, not sure what to expect, but as the oncoming riders rounded a bend in the trail, they could clearly see Carp and four of his men.

"What do we do? They might be on the way to the old farm." Tebbers was getting nervous about the whole deal now, but Chester wasn't about to back down, even if he didn't have much of a plan.

"There's too many of them for us to take on. We 'll just follow and see where they go." It was the best he could come up with for now.

Fortunately the riders had been so noisy that the two men hiding beside the trail had been warned of their approach. Once they had passed, Chester got back on his horse and told Tebbers to do the same. He remembered how Mr. Dillon often said that all a posse did was make a lot of noise and raise a lot of dust. Now he saw the truth behind that. Fortunately this time it had worked in his favor.

Chester tried to stay far enough behind Carp and his men so that the winding trail, the bushes, and the small trees situated along the banks of the Arkansas River would hide them. He was holding his breath, hoping that the group ahead would keep going straight and not turn off on the small side trail that lead to the derelict farm. Carp slowed and Chester watched anxiously. Most of the trail to the farm was overgrown, and unless someone knew of its existence, it would not be easily seen. He felt himself holding his breath, then let it out in exasperation. The men he was following had stopped. There was a lot of talking going on, but Chester was too far back to hear the conversation. One of Carp's men jumped down from his horse and examined the ground for tracks. Fortunately by the time he thought to do that, it was impossible to tell those made by the self-appointed sheriff and his henchmen from any that were left behind earlier by Chester and his friends. For a moment it looked like they were going to continue along by the river, but then Carp suddenly changed his mind. He took three of his hired killers and headed towards the cabin, indicating that the other two men should go straight on.

"We can't leave Miss Fleur and Mr. Dillon to face those four alone. We'll have to be careful now." Chester spoke in a hoarse whisper as he laid the reins against his horse's neck and turned to follow the three men along the track that led away from the river.

Tebbers looked a little doubtful but fell in line. Fortunately the track - which had never been any wider than a cart - had become overgrown in the years since it had been used regularly. That meant progress was slow for the men ahead, but also that there was plenty of cover for the two riders following behind. Even Chester could see signs that the path had been used recently - the marshal's assistant blamed himself for not being more careful when they had come this way. He'd made no attempt to hide their tracks, and even without getting off his horse, he could see the broken twigs and flattened grasses they had left, as clear as sign posts. He was still uncertain what he would do when they reached the disused farm house. He thought about challenging Carp out here in the open, but any gunfire would attract the others who had continued along the main trail. He felt a strange knot in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carp get closer and closer to the dilapidated building ahead. Soon he would see it easily through the sparse bushes that had managed to regain a foot-hold on life in the years since the previous homesteader had moved on. He was certain Mr. Dillon would know what to do, but for the life of him he couldn't come up with a plan. He just kept following, hoping there would be some opportunity he could take.

()()()

Matt slowly opened his eyes, knowing he had been dozing on and off.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Fleur came running at the sound of his voice.

"Just a couple of hours, Matt, " she replied.

"Help me up." He lifted his right hand towards her and she readily obliged - there was still a possibility that this man might be interested in her.

Matt got stiffly to his feet and, retrieving his gun from the floor where Chester had left it, he managed to get to the window located on one side of the front door.

"Bring that chair over here, Fleur." He indicated what he wanted. She hurried to comply and set the chair so he could remain seated and still keep watch through the opening. He could see the track leading up to the shack where Fleur and he were waiting. He felt a little better now, but knew that any sudden movement would start his ribs hurting all over again.

"Hugh and Chester should have made it back to Great Bend by now, Matt," she volunteered, but found that making small talk with this man was not easy. He just gave a noncommittal grunt in reply.

At first he wasn't sure if he had actually seen anything, but it happened again. There was movement back down the track and it was coming closer. He could see a vague column of dust, little more than a wisp at first, but now it was definitely a steady cloud. He doubted that it was Chester returning, so the only other possibility was that it was Carp and his hired killers. His first instinct was to leave the shack and hide outside, that way he could come up behind them and have the advantage. However, because of the shape he was in, he didn't think he could move fast enough for that. If it came to a showdown, he was determined he was going to take Carp down and as many of his men as possible. He worried about Fleur though. There wasn't anywhere for her to hide, and already it was too late for her to make a run for cover outside. He could see the men now. Only four of them. He could handle that, but he worried about the woman, after all she was here because she was trying to help him.

"Fleur!" he said urgently, 'Get back behind the door and stay hidden."

With an effort he got to his feet and squared his shoulders. He threw the door open just as Carp and his men dismounted and began to walk towards the shack. He pointed his gun directly at Carp. It would be a stand off, but it was the only hope he had.

"Hold it right there!" he called out to them. "Any of you move, and I'll put a bullet in your boss."

The men seemed stunned for a moment, then Carp began to laugh.

"What do you think you can do, Marshal? One man against four? You don't stand a hope. If you pull that trigger, my men will kill you for sure."

"But I'll kill you first, Carp, and before I go down I will take at least two of your men with me."

Carp began to move forward.

"That's far enough, Carp. The rest of you men need to get on your horses and head back to town."

Carp was still moving towards him, step by step, but the three hired hands stood still, uncertain of what they should do.

"You're under arrest Carp, hand over your gun." Matt was feeling the strain of standing now, his ribs were starting to hurt again, but he couldn't let it show. If he was able, he would have stepped forward and grabbed the pistol that was still in Carp's holster. Reluctantly he admitted to himself that he wouldn't make it that far. He hated to kill a man, even a man like Carp,without giving him a chance to draw. Each time he had to shoot to kill, it hurt him inside, but now he had little choice. Carp was coming towards him, step by step. It was now or never. He was out of options and dizziness was beginning to overtake his struggle to remain upright. Vaguely he became aware of laughter - not a pleasant sound - he knew it was Carp. There was nothing he could do about it. Carefully he reached for one of the supports holding up the roof of the porch and tried to gather his failing senses. He hated it to end this way. A little coward like Carp. He felt himself sliding slowly towards the ground, and he had no strength left to stop it.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 11.

Chester and Tebbers were staying well back from the men they were following. The jailer had no idea what he was going to do when they all arrived at the hideout. There were too many of them to take down. He was hoping he would think of something when the time came, just like Mr. Dillon always did. It would all be happening any minute now.

He heard voices. One of them was Mr. Dillon for sure. He stopped for a moment then looked back to see if Hugh Tebbers was still behind him. He could make out the sound of laughter ahead. Ugly, mocking laughter. It reminded him of the days when folks used to poke fun and laugh at him because they saw him as weak and useless. Suddenly he felt angry inside, knowing that the man who had put an end to all that kind of hateful ugliness, was in trouble.

The horse beneath him lurched forward into a fast canter as he dug his left spur into its flank, and loosened the reins to give him his head. It wasn't easy cantering with one leg held stiffly out to the side, but over the years he had become quite proficient at it. There was only one thought on his mind - get to the shack as fast as possible. He hoped that Tebbers would follow behind, but didn't have time to look back and check

There was about a hundred yards to go when the trail abruptly ended, and he burst into the clearing in front of the shack. He hadn't been seen yet. Probably because the men in front of him were too busy watching Carp as he walked towards Dillon. The marshal was sagging to the ground and the self-appointed sheriff had lifted a boot and was about to lay it into the already broken ribs.

In one move Chester grabbed his rifle and dismounted even before his horse had slowed to a walk. He could sense that Tebbers was behind him somewhere, but wasn't sure how far away.

"Hold it right there, Carp!" he yelled at the man who had already landed one kick into the ribs of the crumpled marshal. The jailer moved closer still aiming the Winchester so as to cover all four men. "I can put a big hole in ya from here, mister, so just put your hands up and back away. You men do the same." He moved the barrel of the weapon in a small arc to cover all of them. Tebbers had arrived. He could hear the man dismounting from his horse.

"You," he said pointing at Carp. "Take off your gun belt slowly and toss it over here."

Carp made no move to comply with the order. Instead he opened his mouth to make some snide comment to the marshal's assistant about no one-legged man being strong enough to take him down, but Chester's anger had already risen to the surface, and Carp was no longer so sure he'd be safe from the bullets in that rifle.

"Don't make me ask ya twice Carp." Chester's dark eyes narrowed impatiently. "I don't have all day to stand around waitin'."

The anger in Chester's voice was obvious now, and Carp thought the man might just fire at him. No one wanted to be shot with a rifle at this close range - it could do too much damage. He decided not to take the risk. Chester had cocked the rifle and was already lifting it to take aim. That movement convinced Carp that now was not the time to raise objections.

Carp's gun and holster landed a few feet in front of Chester, so he stepped a little to the side to maintain a clear view of his quarry before calling to Tebbers.

"Hugh, come here and git this gun, will ya"?"

Tebbers, who was a little timid by nature looked at him for a minute.

"Come on." Chester encouraged. "I've got him covered. He knows I'll blow a hole clean through 'im if he so much as looks at me funny - and you men," he turned to the other three still standing there trying to decide what to do, "You throw yer guns down too. Any tricky business and your boss gits it right in the belly."

The sour look on Chester's face convinced them that he was serious. They dropped their guns to the ground.

"Go pick 'em up," he instructed Tebbers.

Fleur appeared around the door, still cautious of what she might find.

Chester didn't quite know what to do with the four men he had taken prisoner. He looked at the dilapidated hovel in front of him. It didn't have a lot to offer, but there were four wooden posts holding up the front porch. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fleur helping Mr. Dillon to stand upright. He wanted to call out to him and check that he was all right - but at the same time knew not to take his eyes off of the four men he was holding at gun point.

His boss seemed to have recovered enough to get to his feet.

"Get the lariats from their horses, Chester." His voice was a little weaker than usual.

The jailer turned to Tebbers. "You heard what Mr. Dillon said. Go fetch those ropes."

By now, Dillon was back on his feet, pointing his colt pistol directly at Carp. Hugh returned with the lassos he had taken from the saddles on the four men's horses.

"Here, hold this rifle." Chester handed the weapon over to him in exchange for the ropes. "If any of 'em breath hard, let 'em have it."

He wasn't too sure if Tebbers would actually fire, but as long as everyone else believed it was possible, this might work.

"Tie Carp first …right here." Dillon indicated the post he'd been leaning on.

Chester had worked around cattle long enough to know how to hog-tie a body. With the likes of Carp he had no hesitation about tightening the rope until it hurt. Somebody who would kick a man when he was down, like Carp had just done, wasn't hardly fit to be thought of as a man anyway.

Once he'd secured the prisoner, he turned to look at his boss. The man was still holding on to the wooden pillar for support and Chester thought he looked a little pale. He was still managing to hold his gun steady and his eyes were clearly focused on the three men standing in front of him. The marshal was checking them over - each in turn.

"You," he said indicating the one closest to him, who also appeared to be the youngest, "Take those ropes and tie your friends up. Do a good job or your boss here will get a bullet in his leg."

Chester watched as the man willingly obeyed, and tied his two companions securely to the remaining poles holding up the remnants of the porch roof. It didn't look to be a really secure structure - but it would work for now. He called the young man over to him once he'd finished.

"Come over here and give me a hand." The lad came obediently; it didn't look like he would give anyone much trouble. Carp called some comment to the boy about remembering who paid him.

"You jest shut yer mouth, Carp," Chester growled at him. "You ain't gonna be paying no-one where yer headed."

"I promise you'll be the first one I come after." Trent Carp was feeling humiliated in front of his men and by a one-legged cripple no less. He at least had to make a show of being strong.

Chester ignored him and turned to his boss.

"Come on, Mr. Dillon, let's git you back inside. Miss Fleur you best come back inside, too. These men ain't fit for a lady to be around." Chester looked at the young man beside him. "What's yer name?" he asked. He realized this wasn't much more than a kid.

The youngster hung his head and mumbled, "They call me Rico. I didn't really want to be with them, Mr. Chester, but I didn't have a place to stay or anything to eat and Mr. Farrell took me in."

Chester wasn't sure if that was the truth. Farrell wasn't among the men they had tied up on the front porch, so he took the boy at his word.

"Well, see here, Rico. Mr. Dillon's a United States Marshal, and I work for him. If you want to help us, that's fine, but don't you double cross me or I'll come after you, fer sure."

"I understand, Mr. Chester. I'd rather work for you. Those men would beat me sometimes - just for nothing."

"Then give me a hand here, Rico."

By this time, Matt was sagging slowly to the ground again, but Chester with Rico's help got him back on his feet and inside the tumble-down shack, where they managed to settle him back in the corner once more.

Chester knew that Dillon wouldn't agree to go back to Dodge without finishing his job here. They needed some help. He had to send Tebbers back to town and get that telegram sent to Hays, but at the same time he was worried that the rest of Carp's men would come back looking for the man who paid them. He couldn't really trust Rico and also wasn't certain he could handle the rest of the men by himself if they did show up.

He went out onto the porch and checked on the two men tied up out there. Each of them seemed pretty secure for the time being. He picked up the Colt pistol with the distinctive grip. It was lying there on the porch near where Mr. Dillon had been standing. His boss must have dropped it. He stuck it in the waistband of his pants for now, then he walked over to where Tebbers was sitting on an old stump, watching the prisoners.

"It would be a heckuva lot easier if we could get these no-goods locked up in the jail, but I don't think that can happen while half of Carp's men are still out there on the loose. One of us is gonna hafta go back to town and send that wire to Hays. It'd probably be better if you went so's I can stay here and keep an eye on things. We might need some vittles here too - and how about some coffee?"

"Chester! The marshal's asking for you." The voice belonged to Fleur, and she was standing at the entrance to the ramshackle farmhouse they had made their refuge. Chester turned towards her, still trying to take stock of everything that needed to be done, but if Mr. Dillon needed him, he had to go.

"I'll be back in a jiffy," he told Tebbers as he turned and walked towards Fleur. He was worried about his boss.

Dillon still looked pale and drawn. The sweat on his forehead and the look in his eyes revealed some of the pain he was experiencing.

"Chester," his voice was a little rough. "We're gonna need some help here."

"Yes, Mr. Dillon. I was gonna send Hugh Tebbers back to town and have him send a wire to Hays to see if we could get us a deputy or two to come down."

"Good thinking." Matt coughed a little and held his ribs for a moment. Chester waited patiently.

Matt continued, "I plan to take these men in, so that they can stand trial for the murder of John Hicks and his deputy." The marshal stopped to take a couple of breaths. "But I really want Spike Holcombe too. Don't scare him away. I think he'll come looking for me, so finding him won't be a problem." He leaned back against the saddle and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Here Mr. Dillon, I got yer gun for ya. You musta dropped it outside there. I'll put it right here next to ya." Carefully he placed the six-gun on the floor close to his boss's right hand.

He barely heard the mumbled reply, "Thanks, Chester."

Chester watched as his boss drifted off to sleep once more, grateful to see him alive and breathing, if somewhat the worse for wear.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 12

Chester sat quietly by the window, watching the trail that came to an abrupt end at the edge of the clearing, about fifty feet in front of him. He was certain that the rest of Carp's men would be headed this way soon.

Before he'd sent Hugh Tebbers back to Great Bend, Chester reorganized his prisoners. Carp was now here in the shack, tied to a chair. At one point, he got up and put a gag in the man's mouth because his useless threats and insults began to get on his nerves. The other two were secured under a small lean-to shed at the back of the old farmhouse. He was keeping a close eye on Rico because many of Carp's threats had been directed at the young man, and Chester feared that the boy might take them seriously. Rico, for his part seemed to ignore his ex-boss. He even volunteered to go back to the river and see if he could catch some fish, so they would have something to eat. Chester didn't trust him - or the influence of Carp's men - as far as that, but he had to admit the boy seemed to be trying to help.

It seemed like he'd been sitting here for hours. He nearly nodded off once or twice, but the distant sound of horses approaching, and then men's voices brought him quickly back to the present. It had to be the rest of Carp's men coming to look for their boss.

"What's happening, Chester?" Mr. Dillon was calling to him from the far corner of the room.

"I reckon the rest of Carp's men are here a'lookin fer their no-account boss." He turned his rifle towards Carp who was struggling to loosen his bonds, "Any racket outta you, and I'll enjoy pullin this here trigger." Apparently, Carp could see the cold sober look in the jailer's eyes because he immediately quieted down.

Dillon, with Rico's help, was already on his feet. There was only one window in this old nester's shack, but many of the boards making up the walls had rotted through, and there were plenty of gaps big enough to see through. He had found one that gave him a clear view of the trail and was already aiming his six-gun through the space.

Three men were clearly visible now. It seemed they weren't sure what was going on, because, as yet, they hadn't drawn their guns. One of them swung down from his horse and was tying it to one of the posts outside.

Dillon looked at Chester, and nodded towards Carp. "Get him to his feet and bring him over here."

Chester cut the ropes binding the man to the chair and hauled him up as directed. "You jest remember, mister," Chester whispered in the man's ear as he swapped his rifle for Dillon's Colt. "One peep outta you and yer a dead man. I promise ya' that."

Carp's man was just about to climb up on to the porch of the shack. He was visibly startled when the door flung open, and the man with the stiff leg was standing there holding Carp. He had a gun aimed at the self-proclaimed sheriff's head.

Chester called out to the men, "You sinners, just throw yer guns over here, and git down off yer horses. Any one of ya tries anything a'tall, and yer boss here will get a dose of lead in 'is ear."

The man who'd already tied his horse to the post, decided that this lame cripple wasn't much of a threat. His right hand reached for his gun, and he started to raise it to fire. He had no time to pull the trigger before a rifle blast shattered the air, and he fell from his horse. Chester realized that Mr. Dillon had been keeping an eye on him from the window. The two remaining men hurriedly dropped their guns to the dirt and carefully dismounted.

"Keep yer hands up where I can see 'em!" Chester made his voice as strong and his tone as no-nonsense as possible. He'd watched Mr. Dillon control big crowds of angry Texas trail hands and knew the secret was to keep them believing that he was a force to be reckoned with. Trouble was Chester knew he wasn't quite as much of a force as his boss.

"Bring 'em all in here, Chester," Dillon called from the other side of the door.

Chester pointed his gun in the direction he wanted them to move. At the same time he kept a tight hold on Carp.

"You heard Mr. Dillon," he growled at the men while giving Carp an extra prod to get him moving. "Get inside."

()()()

Chester looked around at the total count of Carp's men - two outside tied up in the lean-to, Carp once more secured to his chair, and two men now trussed up by the front door. They had already buried the one who had tried to fire his gun, and Dillon had sent Rico to check on the two men out back.

"You trust him, Mr. Dillon?" the assistant inquired referring to the young man.

"I think so, Chester. He has better prospects with us than anything Carp has to offer. I think he just got caught up with them when he had nothing else to do. We'll keep an eye on him just to make sure."

Dillon was still seated on the chair by the window, not because they were expecting any more arrivals, but because he knew he needed help to get up and didn't want to show any weakness in front of Carp

"We need to get back to Great Bend," he told his assistant. I think Spike Holcombe will be arriving any time now, and I need to stop him before he can bring more harm to the town."

Chester looked at his boss. "You sure yer up to that, Mr. Dillon?" he asked quietly.

Dillon thought for a moment. "I'll need your help."

"Yessir." Chester responded quickly. He was serious. It wouldn't occur to him to question anything his boss asked him to do.

Dillon had to smile. Chester was the most loyal man he knew. It didn't matter what the situation, or how dangerous it was, his assistant was always ready to stand beside him. The marshal thought himself lucky to have someone he could trust like that.

Matt eased himself into a more comfortable position. The old chair seemed to put pressure on all the wrong places in his back. He inhaled quickly through clenched teeth, then tried to relax a little so the fire in his ribs would subside. Chester waited patiently - he would offer to help but knew that wasn't what his boss wanted right now. Matt took another shallower breath before speaking. "We have to go back to town and take Carp with us."

"What about all these other characters, Mr. Dillon?" Chester nodded his head towards the pitiful group tied up in the corner. They hadn't put up much of a fight so far, but out on the trail four men was a lot to keep under control.

"Do you think that you and Rico can handle them if I take care of Carp?"

"I think we can, Sir." Chester looked at his boss. He wasn't convinced that Mr. Dillon would be able to take care of Carp or anyone else in his present condition, but he wasn't about to tell him so. He also wasn't sure about Rico. He was hardly more than a boy, and he had been working for Carp for a while. Could he trust him? On the other hand, if they could get Carp and his men locked in the jail in Great Bend, life would be a lot easier. "You want to leave at first light, Mister Dillon?"

Dillon wasn't looking forward to the ride, but it was the best way to deal with the situation. As best he could remember from the ride out here, they were about two hours from town. He wanted to see that Carp stood trial for the murder of John Hicks and his deputy, but he also wanted to meet with Spike Holcombe. If he was going to have to take him down, he'd rather do it in a place where no one else would get hurt in the process. Of course, he knew that Spike Holcombe probably wanted an audience to witness him taking down a US Marshal in a fair gunfight. It would do a lot to bolster his reputation and keep other lawmen from coming after him. Matt guessed he might have to deal with that, too, when the time came. "No, Chester. I want to leave tonight. That trail along by the Arkansas will be easy to follow, even in the dark, and no one will be looking for us to arrive before morning. Any of Carp's men left awake will probably be too drunk to put up much of a fight by the time we get to town."

"Are you sure yer gonna be able to ride, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt turned around a little on the chair where he was sitting, checking out how far he could move without the sharp pain that kept reminding him of the broken ribs. He knew it would be an uncomfortable ride, but staying here was no pleasure either. "I'll be fine," was his reply. "You just go get the horses ready and everyone mounted up. Leave Carp in here till last. I'll keep an eye on him."

Chester never liked to tell his boss what to do, but he was a little worried. "Ya' know, Mr. Dillon, Doc always says you should take it easy with broken ribs."

"I know what Doc says - but he's not here." Matt moved again, trying to find a position that didn't hurt too bad. "Go and get those men on their horses with their hands tied. I don't think they'll give you any trouble while I've got Carp in here." He paused again. "Besides I don't want Spike Holcombe arriving in town and fixing up some other crooked scheme with his brother."

Chester wholeheartedly agreed, "Yessir, Mister Dillon, I think we've got enough trouble already fer a whole entire month of Sundays."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 13

Fortunately, it was not the darkest of nights. The moon was almost full and the sky was perfectly clear which made the landscape show up as shadows of light and dark grey. The river reflected bursts of pale light on ripples that flowed along its surface, making the trail that ran along its edge much easier to follow.

Surprisingly enough, it hadn't been too difficult to get all the prisoners mounted and their horses tied in a string so either Rico or Chester himself could lead them. He wasn't sure how his boss managed to do it, but he had mounted up on the buckskin with no sign of pain or difficulty, then reached back to take Carp's horse in tow.

The marshal's assistant decided he would lead the way with the four prisoners, then Miss Fleur followed by Mr Dillon and Carp. Rico would bring up the rear just in case anything went wrong.

They had been riding for less than half an hour when Carp began to complain. Chester heard his boss tell the man that if he didn't like riding in the saddle, he could always find another way to bring him in. Even in the dim light, Carp could see that the marshal meant every word. The self-appointed sheriff was not a brave man unless he had his men to back him up, so, for the time being, he shut his mouth and concentrated on staying on his horse.

It was well before daylight when the little party arrived on the outskirts of town. By this time, the moon was about to set below the western horizon, so the town was dark and splashes of dense black shadow filled the alleyways. Matt couldn't help but think how Sheriff Hicks and his deputy had died, shot in the back amongst these dark, cold shadows. He knew that could just as easily be his fate too, one day, but hoped not. He would rather face his enemies out in the open. Spike Holcombe was headed his way, and he wasn't sure how that would play out. He thought that Holcombe would want an audience if it came to a shoot-out so that the gunman could brag about taking down a US marshal. Still, he couldn't be sure. Maybe Holcombe would decide it was safer to enlist some dark alley as his only witness.

There was no-one on the streets at all. All of the saloons were closed and even the hotel only had one oil lamp burning. Its light tried to penetrate the grimy glass of the windows but met with little success.

Dillon's ribs were reminding him of their battered state with every breath, but this was a job that had to be done. They had reached the jail, and he handed the rope that was leading Carp's horse to Chester. After a sharp word to his prisoner he carefully lowered himself to the ground and climbed up onto the board walk to try the door. Of course it was locked. Chester noticed how his boss was walking stiffly, making a deliberate movement out of each step he took.

Having no luck with the door, he called to whoever was inside.

"This is Marshal Dillon! I have your friend Carp out here. Come open this door before he gets hurt."

He could hear someone moving around inside, and banged on the door again to hurry them along. He wanted to get inside before more of Carp's remaining men showed up. He signaled to Chester to bring the man to him, but before he arrived, a disheveled looking Farrell opened the door a little. It was enough for Dillon to force it open, but the sudden movement re-kindled the fire in his chest. Chester could see what was happening. He stuck a gun to Carp's head and told him to move. Carp offered a mild objection but the cold muzzle of the pistol and the look in the jailer's eyes convinced him to comply. He was also a little sore after riding with his hands tied behind him for the two hours it took to get to town, and that took some of the fight out of him.

"That was a mean way to make a man ride," he complained to Chester.

Chester frowned, "You just be grateful ya was sat in the saddle and not layin' across it. Now move!"

Farrell didn't put up much of a fight either. By the bleary look in his bloodshot eyes, he was feeling the after effects of too much raw whisky from the last night, and probably from Fleur's wine from the night before.

There were four cells in the Great Bend jail. Dillon told Chester and Rico to put Carp by himself in one and the other men, including Farrell, in two of the others. He wanted to keep one cell empty incase they needed it later.

After searching and securing all of Carp's men, Chester returned to the front office to see his boss sitting there behind the desk. He was bending forward and wrapping his right arm around his ribs. Fleur was trying to get the stove going to make some coffee.

"Do you folks have a doctor in this town?" Chester asked her quietly, hoping the answer would be yes.

"No" she replied. " We used to have have one, old Doc Thorne, but he left shortly after Carp arrived. I think he saw what was going to happen."

Chester could see through the window where a few men were gathering in the street in front of the jail. One or two were carrying torches.

"What should we do Mr. Dillon?" Chester was worried now. He didn't know whose side those men were on.

"How many of them?" Dillon asked through clenched teeth.

Chester looked again, being careful not to make himself too easy a target.

"Probably about six, maybe eight," the jailer replied. Without getting squarely in front of the window, he couldn't be sure.

"Let's wait a minute and see what they want." Dillon was used to handling crowds, and as long as they were quiet, he knew it was best to leave them alone. Besides they would have a tough time storming the jail - there was only one door, so whoever came in first would be an easy target.

The coffee was ready, and Fleur had several mugs lined up on the desk all ready. Chester saw her lifting the hot pot from the stove and immediately went to help her.

"Let me take that Miss Fleur. It looks kinda heavy."

He'd picked up a rag hanging by the stove and took the pot from her. He was just about to pour the coffee when there was a gentle knock on the door.

"It's me, open up."

Chester recognized Tebbers' voice. With hot coffee pot in one hand, he unlocked the door with the other. Tebbers stumbled through the opening, having been pushed by a man he hadn't seen before, who was following closely behind. The man was holding a gun to Tebbers' back. Chester didn't stop to think. Seeing the gun, he knew something wasn't right. Without thinking, he threw the hot coffee at the stranger then reached out with his stiff leg and slammed the door closed, sliding the lock with his empty hand. The man dropped the gun and reached for his eyes, which had taken the brunt of Chester's attack.

Tebbers stood there, frozen to the spot, while the stranger was whimpering and rubbing his face where the coffee had hit.

"That's a terrible thing to do," the newcomer whined.

"What happened?" demanded Chester. He bent down to pick up the gun that the man had dropped. It took Tebbers a few moments to gather his wits before replying.

"I don't really know. I think he suspected something when I got back to town and followed me to the telegraph office. I'm not sure if 'ol man Billings got your message out or not, Marshal. He was trying to send it when Farrell fired through the widow and hit him. He fell to the ground. There was a whole lot of blood. I think he was dead but I was too scared to check. I managed to run out the back and hide, but they found me after a while and then once you all arrived, Carl there," he indicated the man who was still rubbing his eyes, "dragged me over here."

"How many more men are there?" Chester wanted to know.

"Maybe ten at most. Word is around town that you have Carp locked up, so I think some of those will not want to stand and fight. Also, I know for sure that two have left already. Last I heard, Mr. Holcombe was trying to get a few men together to come and storm the jail, but I don't think he had much luck."

Chester glanced out the window. It was daylight now and the group of men who were previously standing around had vanished with the darkness. He asked Tebbers if he knew who they were.

"I think they were the remains of Carp's men - they wanted to see if Carl here," he indicated the man who had pushed him in through the front door, "had managed to take over. He wanted a couple of men to back him up, but they wouldn't. Seems folks here have figured out who you are Marshal and heard your reputation."

Chester took the man known as Carl back to the cells and locked him up with the rest of the prisoners. The man was still complaining about the hot coffee being thrown in his face - so Chester, always soft hearted, took him a bowl of cold water and a cloth. By the time he returned to the front office, Fleur was already pouring the contents of a second pot of coffee into the mugs. He looked carefully at his boss. Many times he had heard Doc say how dangerous broken ribs could be. They could pierce a lung if not treated right, he'd said. Chester didn't know a lot about medicine but figured that would be bad. It had to be, because broken ribs were always enough to make Doc very concerned. Now, he was worried because they were holed up here in the sheriff's office in Great Bend and not too sure if Sheriff Carver from Hays had ever received their request to send reinforcements. Add to that, Spike Holcombe was due to arrive any minute and Mr. Dillon didn't look in any shape to be facing him.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 14

Except for noises from the prisoners out back in the cells, all was quiet inside the sheriff's office in Great Bend. Chester looked around - this place was bigger than Mr. Dillon's office in Dodge City. The desk that his boss was now sitting behind was more like a large fancy table with carved legs and it was made of an expensive looking dark wood. The chair behind it had a padded leather seat and back, and swiveled around, more like the one Doc had in his office rather than just a plain ol' chair like Mr. Dillon had back in Dodge. The stove was bigger too, and didn't smoke as much as the one he had to mess with back in his boss's office. Somehow it irked him to think that a scum like Carp had been enjoying all this, while Mr. Dillon's office only had the bare basics.

He was brought back to the present by his boss asking questions of Tebbers.

"Does anyone else in town know how to use that telegraph?"

"I don't think so." Tebbers was looking at his feet, feeling that somehow he had failed these men who had come so far, and been through so much, in their attempt to rid the town of Carp and his followers.

Chester began to feel that they were all trapped in this building. Having only one door made it easy to defend - but it was also easy for a group of determined men to prevent them all from leaving. Eventually they would run out of food and water. To Chester, lack of food was an insurmountable problem. He was about to mention it to Mr. Dillon when there was a rifle blast from outside, followed closely by another. Chester got to his feet and carefully pulled aside the grubby piece of cloth that served as a curtain for the window. He wanted to see what was going on outside but kinda wished he hadn't. As before, there was a group of men standing there. Two man stood out in front of the rest. The first was dressed in the style of a gambler. He presumed it was Tad Holcombe. The other man had the thin pallid look that is typical of someone who has just got out of prison. It was this man who yelled out to him.

"Tell that marshal to come on out here, or we'll burn the place down." He followed his request with a laugh that seemed to echo through the small gathering out there.

Chester looked at his boss, then back through the window at the gathering crowd. Dillon was struggling to push himself to his feet.

"Let me go take care of them, Mr. Dillon." Chester couldn't see how his boss would be able to stand out there and control this crowd. There must be at least a dozen men.

If Matt could have handed this responsibility to his assistant, he would have done so, but all he could think of was the one time he had asked Chester to go and do what was rightfully his job. His assistant had nearly got himself killed. He couldn't risk that happening again. Even though it was painful to move around, he was determined to get out there and face Spike Holcombe.

Somehow, by holding his breath, he got to his feet and slowly pulled himself up to his full height. Gradually he took a breath and lifted his face towards Chester. He conjured up a smile and a look of bravado.

"Hand me one of those rifles, Chester." His voice came out a lot stronger than he felt, and Chester studied him for a moment. He knew that Mr. Dillon had the strength of about ten men, and if anyone could pull this off, he could.

"Yessir," he mumbled as he picked up one of the two rifles they had with them and checked that it was ready to fire. He knew there was no sense in arguing with the Mr. Dillon when his mind was made up.

"You want me to come out there with you, Mr. Dillon?" Chester was willing as ever to follow his boss to the ends of the earth if necessary. This time, it was not that far, but it was very dangerous.

"No, just open the door, then close it behind me and keep a watch through the window. Oh, you might need to keep a gun handy." He added that as an afterthought.

Dillon gave a brief nod to Chester who obligingly opened the heavy wooden door to the office, then watched as Dillon stepped outside to face the crowd. The lawman stood there, feet apart and the rifle cradled in his right arm.

"What is it you want, Holcombe?" he asked. To those who didn't know him well his voice had its natural strength, but Chester could note a little weakness in the tone.

"I've come to get even with you Dillon. You're the one who sent me away to that hell-hole. I spent two years of my life there, waiting for this moment."

"The law sent you to prison, not me, and if I remember, it was for fifteen years." Dillon was using all his will power to stand upright and stay focused.

"I'm not going back." Spike was looking carefully at the tall lawman. He had hated this man every minute of every day he had been in that prison.

"It's my job to see that you do. You're under arrest."

Spike Holcombe laughed. It was a bitter, harsh sound. Then he turned to indicate all the men standing behind him. Matt could make out several people from the town who he recognized, including Tad Holcombe.

"I don't see how that's going to work, Marshal." It seemed like he added a derisive sneer to his words. "Looks to me like you're just one man, and I have about a dozen behind me."

"Don't count on their support, Holcombe. You might get a bullet or two in me, but I will take at least three of you with me before I go down."

Tad Holcombe had been standing beside his brother, but Matt noticed, with some satisfaction, that he had shuffled around a few paces so that he was no longer in the front row of the mob.

Matt knew he needed to get this over quickly, either by goading Spike into a fight soon, or better yet, by getting the crowd to disperse.

"See there," he called to Spike, "Even your own brother doesn't want to stand too close to you." He stopped to take a careful breath then called to the crowd, "Which of you men want to stand up here beside the Holcombes?"

There was a murmuring going around the group, but they all stood their ground.

Chester stood behind the window watching, unsure what he should do. He wanted to go out there and stand beside the man he idolized, but Dillon had told him to wait.

Speaking with his usual strong commanding voice was not easy for Dillon. If he breathed too deeply, it was as if at least three hot knives were stuck into his chest - but it had to be done. There still seemed to be a little hesitation in the mob, and he wanted to use that to his advantage. Carefully, he took one more breath - determined not to let the pain show on his face.

"Listen, you men. I have Carp and Farrell and a few of your other friends locked up here in the jail. They'll all be going to trial for murder, amongst other things. You all back away now, just leave town while you have the chance. This is between me and the Holcombe brothers, you don't have to get yourselves killed."

He noticed that although some of the men hesitated and looked like they might back away, there were three or four who moved closer to the Holcombes. He could feel his strength ebbing away and knew he had to do something while he could still stand. Maybe he could taunt Spike into a man-to-man gunfight. At any other time he was pretty sure he could out draw the escaped prisoner, but as things stood now, it might not work out so well. The door from the jail opened, and Chester walked out onto the boardwalk to come and stand beside him.

"I thought maybe you could use a little help, Mr. Dillon." Chester's words touched him deeply. He realized that his assistant had seen that there wasn't much hope and had come to stand there for what would probably be a final showdown for both of them.

"I thought I told you to stay inside."

"Yeh, you did, Sir. But I can see what's happenin' better from out here."

It looked like Spike and and about four of his men were preparing to charge the jail. They had drawn their guns and were stepping up onto the sidewalk.

Dillon was about to try to make one final effort. He hated killing, even a man like Spike Holcombe, but he raised the rifle he was holding and prepared to fire. He knew the action would start a gun battle that neither he nor Chester would survive. Once Holcombe fired, the other men would quickly gain the courage to join him.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 15

It is strange what pain and weakness will do to a man. His focus had become very narrow and time seemed to be slowed. He watched as Spike Holcombe and two of his men raised their guns. Maybe he could have taken two or all three of them on a good day, but the pain in his chest was going to compromise his speed and accuracy. He didn't worry about that for himself. He had accepted a long time ago that his life could end any day, possibly quite suddenly and most likely violently, but now he was more worried about the people who'd been helping him. If he couldn't somehow overcome the Holcombes, those peoples' lives would be in jeopardy too. Somewhere on the periphery of his vision there was movement. He hardly dared take his eyes off the men in front of him. Everything seemed to be moving so slowly. He heard voices, and Holcombe and his men began to turn to look behind them.

"Mr. Dillon, look! It's that old man who runs the telegraph office."

With an effort Dillon pulled his gaze away from the slowly unfolding scene in front of him, and looked across the street. He saw a group of men armed with all manner of weapons, and they were headed this way. They were older men, not cowboys or gun-slingers. They looked like men who had come straight from their places of business, dressed in suits, some still wearing ties. Maybe they had come from behind the desks at their banks or the counters of their stores. There were about a dozen of them, toting a wild variety of rifles, shotguns, and an array of pistols that must have been left over from serving in the army during some war or another. One even carried a huge curved sword. Hugh had said he thought Johnny Billings had been killed. Obviously the man was very much alive.

Billings and his men positioned themselves across the street. The old man had a blood stain on his shirt, and his left arm was in a makeshift sling, but he spoke with a clear voice.

"Holcombe, we've come to talk to you."

The gambler and his brother turned to see where the voice was coming from. He started to laugh at the group of elderly attackers behind him, but Johnny Billings put an end to any laughter. He fired his rifle and the bullet landed in the dirt a few inches from Tad Holcombe's feet.

"We're taking our town back! We don't want you here anymore. We were scared of you and your kind for a while, but the marshal here has shown us that we have to fight for what's ours and that's what we're doing."

The little group was an unlikely assortment of men. Most of them had been robbed and tormented by Carp for too long. By themselves they hadn't been able to organize their courage. But now, with a United States Marshal on their side, they were more than ready to act.

Somehow their presence gave Dillon the extra burst of energy he needed.

"You heard them, Holcombe! I want you and your brother to throw your guns over here. The rest of you men can just ride on out of town and don't come back."

Spike Holcombe could see only one way out. He raised his gun and aimed at Dillon. Just as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, something impacted his arm just above the wrist. It was as if a lightning bolt had struck him. The rifle instantly fell from his now useless hand.

"Mr. Dillon told you to drop your guns." Chester's voice was an angry growl. He was still pointing the smoking Winchester at Holcombe, prepared to fire a second shot if necessary. "Do it now, or the next one will go straight through yer head." Chester turned his eyes slightly to glance questioningly at his boss. He needed approval, just to make sure he was doing the right thing.

The report from the jailer's rifle had shattered the air. The collection of hired killers was undecided for a moment. It was just long enough for Billings and his unlikely group to cross the street and threaten those who had not yet decided to leave. Most of the men now backing Holcombe had been employed by Carp, and heavily involved in putting fear into these same business owners. Now it seemed that the fear had been lifted and the hunters were becoming the hunted. The hired men were smart enough to know that there was no love lost here. Maybe leaving town was the best option. They began to peel away, slowly at first, one by one, but then, very quickly, they were leaving in small groups with the rag-tag army of men jeering loudly behind them.

The owner of one of the saloons that had been taken over by Carp had a particular grudge against them. They had killed his only son in a bar fight when they started taking over the town. He spotted the man responsible and called to him. The man barely had time to turn around and certainly no time to draw his gun before the saloon owner took careful aim and fired. He may not have been a young man anymore, but many years of experience, added to the hatred he felt, had made his aim perfect. The man he had recognized fell dead in the street. The other hired men were spurred into action. No amount of money was worth dying for. Those who had been undecided up to now, began running down the street to gather up their horses. Billings' men followed, firing their guns into the air and yelling insults.

Matt seemed to have recovered enough strength to put a little fear in the Holcombe brothers himself.

"You two stay right where you are…Chester!"

The jailer turned to look at his boss. He had never seen Mr. Dillon's face so drawn.

"Lock these two up."

"Yessir."

"And, thank you," he added, quietly enough for only for his assistant to hear.

The jailer blushed slightly. Mr. Dillon didn't hand out praise lightly. That simple 'thank you' meant more to him than a whole month's pay.

The brothers now stood alone on the dusty street of the town that had once been theirs. They were too stunned to put up much resistance. Chester pointed his rifle at them.

"Come on you two. You know the way."

()()()

Chester had turned the key in the cell door, locking the Holcombe brothers inside.

"You tell Dillon he's not going to get away with this," Spike called out in a sudden burst of useless bravado.

Chester swung the keyring on his finger as he stood looking at the men. "It'll take more than a coward like you to stop a man like Mr. Dillon! " He couldn't help but let the pride he felt for his boss come through in his words. Mr. Dillon was the most honest, trustworthy, and dedicated man he had ever known.

By the time he returned to the front office, the marshal was once more seated behind the desk, and Fleur was pouring coffee. She offered Chester a cup, then handed one to Dillon.

"Here Matt, you look like you could do with this." Fleur went behind the desk to stand beside the man she hoped would notice her. He accepted the mug and leaned back in the chair - something was bothering him. He had just watched a man being shot in the back. Admittedly the man was a hired gun, but he was a man, none the less. Strictly speaking, he hadn't been shot in the back because he did turn around at the last minute, but he never had time to draw his gun. After giving it some thought, Matt accepted that he just didn't have the strength to worry about that right now. Carp and the Holcombe brothers were much more important.

Chester looked across at Johnny Billings. "We thought you were dead," he pronounced.

The old telegraph operator grinned, "It'd take more than one bullet from that idiot, Farrell, to stop Johnny Billings. I managed to send your telegram alright, Marshal, but couldn't wait around for an answer."

The jailer had moved over to look out the window once more. It was surprising how quickly the town was moving around again. It seemed that everyone had come out on the street to experience their new-found freedom from Carp and his cronies. Chester felt good about the situation. He and Mr. Dillon had done a fine day's work here. Looking over at his boss he could see he was not in too good a shape. He needed to rest - after all that's what Doc always prescribed.

"Mr. Dillon, I think we need to get you over to the hotel or somewhere you can rest up for a while."

"Didn't you get a room at the boarding house near the stable?" volunteered Tebbers. "I'll take you over there if you like, Marshal."

Matt nodded. "I did, " he said, then added, "I can make it." He hated to show any weakness. It would invite trouble.

"I'll walk with you, Marshal," Fleur was still hopeful that maybe she could get this man's attention.

"No I'll be fine. Chester, you stay here and watch the prisoners." He hauled his weakening body up from the chair and walked slowly towards the door.

Chester watched for a moment or two, then looked towards Tebbers. "You stay here. I'll be back shortly."

Chester understood his boss very well. He just walked silently beside him as they made their way towards the stable and the small boarding house just behind it. Once or twice he thought Dillon was going to fall, but somehow they made it all the way with the marshal just taking one slow, painful step after another.

"Here, Mr. Dillon, you just lie down for a while and if anythin' happens, I'll come get ya."

While he was speaking he helped the lawman remove his boots and pulled back the old quilt so the marshal could stretch out on the bed.

"I'll come by an' check on ya in a while."

"I'll be fine Chester. In the morning you can let most of those prisoners go...as long as they agree to leave town. Just keep Carp and Farrell and the Holcombes.

"Yessir, Mr. Dillon, I can take care of that."

Quietly Chester left the room and went back to the jail, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with all those prisoners for the rest of the night.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 16

Chester walked quickly back to the sheriff's office. He was worried about Mr. Dillon and thought maybe he should stay with him, but then those prisoners were his responsibility, and Mr. Dillon expected him to see that they were taken care of. Remembering the bullet he had shot through Spike Holcombe's arm, he stopped at the general store to get some bandages, then added coffee and oatmeal to the order so he'd have something to feed the prisoners in the morning.

He opened the door to find Johnny Billings and Hugh Tebbers deep in conversation. "What happened to the body of Carp's henchman that was a'laying out there in the street?" he asked them. He'd noticed on his way back from the boarding house that it was no longer lying there, where it had been left earlier.

Two somewhat guilty faces turned towards him. It was the telegraph operator who spoke. "He got what he deserved, Chester. Forget about it."

"I don't rightly believe Mr. Dillon will forgit about it."

"No one saw who did it. It could have been any one of a dozen men." Billings then tried to change the subject. "I think it's about time we got something to eat."

Food was always an important subject for Chester, but he couldn't leave the jail unattended, what with all those prisoners in the cells an' all. "You fellers go on ahead. I'll git me a bite ta eat later."

They left, and after taking the bandages back to the Holcombe's cell Chester sat himself down in the big swivel chair behind the desk. He could hear shouts and curses coming from the prisoners in the back. They complained about the food, or lack of it. They certainly didn't like the sleeping arrangements, and Carp repeatedly announced that he was going to see that upstart of a meddling marshal got what was coming to him.

Chester stood it for as long as he could, then got to his feet and walked back there, being careful not to get too close to the cell bars. "Listen, you fellers, this ain't supposed to be no high class hotel, so jest quit yer bellyachin' and complainin'. And Carp, I'm tellin' ya, Mr. Dillon will see that you pay for yer evil ways. All of ya need to act like grown men now and just settle down and git some shuteye."

With that he closed the door separating the cells from the front office, and returned to his seat behind the desk. Somehow, he couldn't help but feel the sweet justice of it all. Carp and his cronies were all locked up back there, and he was sitting in the padded swivel chair behind the big, fancy desk. He decided to make himself comfortable and raised his feet to lean back and prop them on the solid mahogany surface. He sat there for a while going over in his head all the things that had happened in the four or five days since he'd left Dodge. He hoped Mr. Dillon was going to be all right. He sure looked pretty sick when he had left him in his room. He would go by and check on him later. Maybe tomorrow he would get that Johnny Billings to send a telegram to Doc to let him and Miss Kitty know that they would be home in a day or so. Maybe he should let Doc know that Mr. Dillon might need some help. On the other hand he knew that his boss wouldn't want anyone worrying about him.

()()()

Matt tried to get the sleep that he knew he needed, but try as he might he couldn't find any way to lie that was comfortable. Once or twice he even wished that Doc was here to dish out an envelope or two of those powders he always seemed to have on hand. His mind kept going back to the man who had been shot out there in the street. He hadn't really seen who had pulled the trigger, and maybe the man had turned around at the last minute. He had only seen the incident out of the corner of his eye but it was his responsibility to find out exactly what happened. He would have to see the body and work on that in the morning.

()()()

Chester woke up with a start - he must have dozed off because his feet were still propped up on the desk. He quickly dropped them to the floor and stood up.

Fleur was standing in front of him. "I didn't mean to startle you, Chester. I brought you some supper. I brought some for the marshal, too."

Chester reached across the table to see what was in the basket she had set down.

"There's some ham and bread and a piece of pie, apple, I think. I can make some coffee if you'd like."

"That's real nice of ya', Miss Fleur."

"You think I should take some to the marshal?"

"I'll take it to him later, he's restin' right now."

She was putting more wood in the stove to heat the coffee pot. "You almost let the fire go out."

"Yeah, guess I… didn't …notice." Chester had his mouth full of ham and a piece of cheese.

"Tell me," Fleur started, almost embarrassed, but trying to sound casual, "Does the marshal have… someone special?"

Chester nearly choked on his mouthful. "That's not none of my business, Miss Fleur."

"I just wondered. He seems such a good man."

"Oh, he surely is Miss Fleur. Bein' a marshal an' all takes up ever' bit a' his time, ya know, and he's awful dedicated to that badge, he really is."

"I thought that maybe he needs someone to take care of him. Cooking and cleaning and such."

This was getting far too personal for Chester. He knew that Mr. Dillon and Miss Kitty were very good friends…well, more than friends most probably, but that was none of his business nor anyone else's as far as he could tell.

"Miss Fleur, it's uh… awful obligin' of you to think a' Mr. Dillon and all, but he's a downright…he's uh…" he had to search for a word, not wanting to hurt her feelings "…a very private man. Yeah that's him all right, a private man." He stopped to take a breath hoping that explanation would satisfy her. "An' he takes care of himself pretty much too! " he added, thinking that would put an end to the conversation.

Fleur came around the table, ready to pour him a fresh cup of coffee. "How about you, Chester?" She reached out to touch his shoulder. For a moment he was unsure what to do. Somehow women tended to make him all flustered. He stood up, trying to move a little further away from her.

"I'll be honest with you ma'am. I hardly make enough money to keep ma' own self fed and clothed. I ain't got no business takin' on a woman."

She looked so disappointed that he felt sorry for her.

"Listen, Miss Fleur. Mr. Dillon and I will git this town cleaned up, and then maybe some nice feller will come along who's just right for ya to settle down with."

She looked at him for a moment. "I doubt it. It's been a coon's age since anyone decent came to Great Bend." She sighed and shook her head. It was always the same story, "Someone will come along…" But she'd been waiting for a long time and no one ever had.

"Perhaps you should head on back home now. I'd walk ya myself but I have to stay here and guard the prisoners. Mr. Dillon depends on me y' know."

She gave him a half smile. It was always the same for her - all the decent men had other commitments, and the ones that were interested in her only wanted one thing. "I'll be all right, I'll stop by the stable and get Hugh to see me home."

But instead of going straight home, she thought maybe she would stop by the Aces High and see if she could pick up a little business. Now that Carp's men weren't breathing down everyone's neck, she might be able to make a little money before morning.

()()()

Chester settled back in the chair once more. There was no cot in the office so this would have to do for the night. He didn't expect to be disturbed before morning, so having found an old blanket stuffed in a desk drawer, and after locking the outer door, he put an extra log in the stove, sat back in the swivel chair, then closed his weary eyes.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 17

Chester woke just as the deep darkness of night gave way to the beginning of daylight. He stretched his arms up over his head and wondered why he'd had to spend an uncomfortable night in a chair while those no-goods out back in the cells got to sleep on cots. First things first though, so he threw a piece of wood in the stove and put the coffee pot on.

Mr. Dillon had said to turn most of the prisoners loose this morning, but he began to wonder how he would do that. There were too many of them for him to handle without risk of them ganging up on him. He was just checking the coffee pot when the door opened about half way and Rico's head appeared.

"Where in tarnation have you been off to?" Chester asked him, "I coulda done with a little bit a' help here, ya' know. Come on in now yer here."

"I kinda got scared when all Carp's men showed up, Mr. Chester, - I thought they might come after me if I showed myself. Right now, there's some other men out here looking for you."

To Chester's immediate relief he saw three men outside, one of whom he recognized as Sheriff Carver's deputy, Tim Kegan. The man had been to Dodge on several occasions to collect a prisoner or bring one in. Chester was never so happy to see anyone in his life.

Kegan was a young man - probably about a year or so younger the jailer himself. He was about the same height as Chester but a little heavier.

"Sheriff Carver told us marshal Dillon needed some help. That doesn't happen very often so I found a couple of friends and came on down here as fast as possible."

It didn't take long for Chester to explain what was going on and why he needed help. As usual when he got flustered or excited, his words tumbled out in no particular order, but Kegan had met Chester before and knew Dillon trusted him implicitly.

"Mr. Dillon told me to keep Carp and Farrell and them Holcombe boys locked up, but to let the other men go, so long as they agreed to leave town quick and not come back."

"We'll take care of that for you Chester. You go get some breakfast for yourself and bring something back for the prisoners we're keeping. Once you're back, I'll go have a word with marshal Dillon."

Chester wasn't about to argue with the idea of breakfast - he hadn't eaten since last night when Fleur brought that basket of food to the jail and his stomach had been rumbling for the last hour or more. All he needed was a small piece of steak with perhaps three or four eggs on top and maybe some biscuits with a little gravy on the side. Just enough to keep him going.

It seemed that the town had a whole different atmosphere since Carp had been put out of business. People were everywhere on the street, stopping and talking, and going about their business with smiles on their faces, and a spring in their steps. It made Chester feel good to know that he and Mr. Dillon had made all that possible. He couldn't help swelling with a little pride as the man who ran the only decent restaurant in town recognized him.

"Hey you're with that marshal, ain't ya? Glad to know ya', young fella."

The man reached out his hand and grasped Chester's. The surprised jailer didn't quite know what to do, but let the man pump his hand up and down anyway.

"Aw now I didn't really do anythin' much a'tall. I jest work fer Mr. Dillon. He's the one who planned it all." Chester felt a little embarrassed by all the fuss.

"You got rid of those men for us, and showed us how to fight for what was ours. We should have had the courage to stand up and protect our own town a long time ago, but somehow, till you two came along, we were just running scared." The man stopped and looked around to select a suitable table for his honored guest. "Come on over here and sit yourself down. Whatever you want's on the house."

The jailer couldn't believe what he was hearing. He tried to restrain his food order a little, but the steak and eggs grew to bigger portions and he added some hash for good measure, and of course, he didn't forget the biscuits and speckledy gravy.

The owner left, but returned quickly with a steaming mug of coffee and placed it in front of the marshal's assistant. Chester wasn't used to being treated like some sort of hero. In fact, for most of his life people had ignored him, or worse yet, looked down on him as being feeble. It wasn't until Mr. Dillon had come to Dodge and taken him on as a jailer that anyone had even noticed he was a real person. The marshal had never questioned his abilities, never even commented on his stiff leg. He had just presumed Chester could do whatever was needed. Gradually other people in town began to accept him, just like his boss had done. Yes, he owed a lot to Mr. Dillon.

People in Dodge, well most people anyway, looked up to Mr. Dillon and somehow Chester had become included in his small circle of friends. That meant a whole lot. There was Doc - sure he could be a little surly at times, trying to pick a quarrel about every little thing, but deep down Doc was a good man, and many times he had treated Chester to a free meal - or given him medicine and never really made him pay for it. And then there was Miss Kitty. Chester once had ideas about courting Miss Kitty - of course they were little more than daydreams. There was no way he could afford any kind of a wife let alone one as perfect as Miss Kitty. Right from the start she had had a special look in her eye when she saw Mr. Dillon. It was like two little magnets he had seen once at the fair, they couldn't help but pull towards each other. Sure he had never seen them kiss or even hold hands, but something happened when they were together. At first he had been a little jealous, he would have liked Miss Kitty to look at him like that, but he knew that she deserved a man like Mr. Dillon. It took him a while to understand. Mr. Dillon always described his job as being chancy, he knew very well that there were people out there who would like to see him dead, and a man as honorable as Mr. Dillon wouldn't want to leave a family to fend for themselves if something bad happened to him. He was aware that there were many nights when his boss didn't sleep at the jail, or even go back to his small room at Ma Smalley's. He had a good idea where Mr. Dillon spent those nights, but he didn't allow himself to think about it too much.

He was still staring at the coffee when his meal arrived. A large perfectly cooked steak with four smiling eggs stacked on top. Of course there were potatoes and biscuits on the side, and a whole dish of gravy. For a time, life was being exceptionally good to Chester.

It took the jailer a while to eat all that breakfast, but eat it he did. When he arrived back at the sheriff's office he was surprised to see Mr. Dillon already there. With help from Kegan and the other two deputies they had sent most of the prisoners on their way with threats of prison or even hanging if they ever returned to Great Bend. Only Carp, Farrell and the two Holcombe brothers remained.

Fleur was there making coffee as usual and still trying to catch Mr. Dillon's eye. By the look of things, Chester guessed she wouldn't give up unless the marshal told her that he had someone waiting for him back in Dodge.

Mr. Dillon was talking: "I need someone who witnessed the killing of the sheriff and his deputy. No sense in taking these men to trial if we can't get at least that." He looked at Hugh Tebbers. "Any ideas?"

Tebbers didn't have an answer - but Fleur did.

"Pete Farrell knows all about it, Matt." Chester hated to hear her call him by his name like that. Only Miss Kitty and Doc had that privilege. "Maybe I could persuade him to talk to you."

Chester decided it was time to interrupt. "Mr. Dillon, I'd be glad to take him outside fer a while. I'm purty sure I could make him talk."

"I don't think we need to resort to that Chester." Somehow the marshal couldn't imagine Chester making anyone talk, but he let it slide by. He looked up at Deputy Kegan. "Bring Farrell out here, then leave while I talk to him."

Matt had a good idea that Farrell, without Carp, would be easy to convince. He really didn't care about Farrell much. He wanted Carp for at least hiring someone to kill John Hicks, and he wanted the Holcombe brothers for everything they had put this town through. Tad Holcombe was probably more involved in that than Spike Holcombe, but he suspected that at least some of the money taken from the town went towards bribes to get Spike set free.

Farrell was standing in front of him now. Matt didn't try to stand up, just indicated for the other man to pull up a chair and sit down. He had sent everyone else, including Chester, outside.

"Tell me Farrell," he began, "Are you afraid of Trent Carp, or is it that he just pays you to do his dirty work?"

Farrell looked across the big table at him. "I ain't afraid of you. I know that much! I could come across this desk and hurt you again. I doubt you can move very fast right now." Then he added as an afterthought "And I ain't afraid of Carp neither."

There was a sneer in Farrell's voice that Matt consciously ignored. "You're partly right, You could try to fight me again, but remember this time it would be one on one… and I have a gun."

"I don't think you'd shoot an unarmed man, marshal."

"You're my prisoner, you tried to escape. That's all the justification I need."

"You think you're pretty smart, dontcha?"

Farrell had started to rise and Matt reached for his gun. "Don't do it, you can't win." He stopped for a moment so he could take another breath and also to give Farrell time to consider his options. "I just want to talk to you, Farrell. Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you. As it stands now, you and Carp are accused of murdering Sheriff Hicks and his deputy. When a good lawman's killed like that, it isn't long before there's a reward out for information as to who committed the crime. There's enough people in this town that someone is going to be willing to step forward and testify against you both in order to collect that money."

Dillon could tell he had the man's attention now.

"Whoever's found guilty is going to be hanging at the end of a rope when that trial's over." Again, he let there be a silence in the air for a second or two. It gave him time to pause to take a careful breath and Farrell time to consider his choices. After a few seconds he continued to push home his small advantage. "I think you had a lot to do with it - but I believe it was Carp who hired the man, or men, who pulled the trigger. I don't know if it was you he paid or someone else, but I know for sure that you were involved."

"So?" Pete Farrell began to see a grim future for himself. This marshal must be a very determined man - he shouldn't even be sitting here breathing at all after the beating they gave him.

"There's a lot of difference between a prison sentence and a hanging Farrell."

"You're bluffing."

"No, I'm not. I don't really mind if both of you hang, I just think that maybe you don't deserve it as much as Carp does."

Farrell thought for a while.

"What is it you want to know?"

"Who paid for the killing? Was it Carp or Holcombe?"

Farrell sat there biting his lip. Obviously, he didn't want to finish up with a rope around his neck - but he didn't want to admit that he had any part in the murders either. He chose his words carefully.

"It was Tad Holcombe who wanted the law out of the way. The sheriff kept hounding him, threatened to throw him out of town. That's when Carp arrived. He brought two men with him. They were the real killers, marshal. They disappeared quickly after they did their job."

"Any idea who they were?"

"I'm not sure. There's some wanted posters in the desk drawer in front of you. I think one of the men is there, the other man got killed. I think his name was Harris." Farrell deliberately avoided mentioning that it was himself who had killed Harris - it had been a fair fight - but this ornery lawman might not see it that way.

Matt opened the drawer that Farrell indicated, and pulled out a handful of circulars. He passed them to Farrell. Admittedly the man could pick anyone and there would be no way to know if he was telling the truth or not, but he wanted to give him a chance.

Dillon watched as Farrell looked through the stack. One by one he set them aside. There were only two or three left when he stopped and turned one around so that the marshal could see it.

"I'm pretty sure this was one of them."

Matt looked at the circular. "Red Larson" wanted for robbery and murder. One thousand dollars' reward. He had heard the name but that was about all he knew about the man.

Pete Farrell stared hard at the marshal sitting across from him. He wanted Dillon to believe him. He had only got caught up by Carp and his men because Carp had paid him and given him responsibilities. It had made him feel important, and he was paid pretty well for the little work he did. Yes, he had beat a few people up, and taken their money, but he hadn't murdered anyone. Even Harris had been killed in a fair fight.

Matt had taken the circular and folded it carefully, then he put it in his inside vest pocket. He would keep it for later.

He looked back at Farrell and the man could almost feel the cold blue eyes piercing his thoughts.

"That's the honest truth marshal. I know you have no reason to believe me, especially after we beat you up an' all, but I'm telling the truth now."

"I'll tell you what's going to happen, Farrell. Those deputies out there are going to take Carp and the Holcombe brothers to Hays City. There's going to be a trial and I expect a hanging. If you're willing to stand up in court and testify to what you've just told me, I'll do everything I can for you. I don't particularly like you, but I don't think you deserve to hang."

Matt was thinking that between Fleur and Farrell and a few other people from the town they would have a pretty good case against the prisoners back there in the cells.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 18

Chester accompanied his boss back to the boarding house. Tim Kegan and the other deputies had agreed to take over care of the men left in the cells. Dillon was a little reluctant at first, but accepted the fact that he was in no condition to escort the four prisoners to Hays. in fact he was not even looking forward to the ride home to Dodge.

"Ya' know Mr. Dillon, a man sure could do with a nice cold beer about now."

The marshal looked over at his assistant and nodded. "You might be right, Chester."

They pushed their way through the doors of the Red Slipper. Not a fancy place but it was right there, and Matt didn't feel like walking too far.

"You go sit yerself down and relax, Mr. Dillon, and I'll git us a beer." Chester felt very magnanimous treating his boss to a beer - until he remembered that the money in his pocket had come out of the office petty cash box.

Matt watched with a half-smile on his face as Chester carried two beers to the table and set them down. Both men raised the glass mugs and tasted the contents.

"That's not bad beer, Mr. Dillon."

"No," the marshal agreed looking at the less than clean beer mug in his hand, "The beer is pretty good."

There was silence for a few moments while both men quenched their thirst.

"Listen, Chester," Dillon began. "I want to thank you for how you've handled everything. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Aw, good gravy, Mr. Dillon. I only did what anybody else woulda done."

"No Chester, you came along and took over when I needed you most, and I really appreciate that. You saved my life, you know"

The jailer was not used to praise, just as his boss was not used to dishing it out. He blushed a little and took his old bandana from his pocket then wiped it over his face to hide his embarrassment. "Mr. Dillon, you know I couldn't ever let anything happen to you. Doc and Miss Kitty would never fergive me."

They both laughed at that comment, and it broke the tension between them.

"Speakin' of Doc, Mr. Dillon, I don't reckon we should ride home with you feelin' poorly. I booked us two tickets on the train t' Dodge tomorrow. I arranged for the horses to travel too. It should have us home, oh, in about five hours barrin' any livestock blockin' the tracks, a' course."

"Where are you getting all this money from Chester?"

The jailer hesitated a moment. "Well…" He paused before continuing. "Uh, ya' know that cash box in the safe where you keep a little bit a' money, jest in case we need it?"

There was suspicion in Matt's voice as he answered. "Yes, I know. I keep it for emergencies."

"Well I just figured when I got yer telegram that this here was an emergency." Chester looked a little sheepish and turned away.

The marshal thought for a moment, trying to put a stern look on his face, but failing hopelessly.

"So I guess we better not have any more emergencies for a while?"

"Well yes, you…uh you could put it like that, sir." Chester concentrated his gaze into the now empty beer mug in front of him.

"One more thing, Chester. Did you find out anything about who killed that hired hand of Carp's, yesterday?"

Chester appeared self-conscious once more. "No sir. When I got back to the sheriff's office after leavin' you at the boarding house, the body was gone and not a soul knew a thing about it."

Matt thought as much, but it bothered him none the less. Undoubtedly the man deserved killing, but the law didn't look at it that way. There was little he could do about it now. His assistant was right. It was time for them to go home.

()()()

For once the train out of Great Bend left on time. Chester took care of getting the horses loaded and then joined the marshal in the second carriage. For Chester, traveling by train was always a thrill. He was amazed by how fast the countryside seemed to flash by the windows. He had read that some trains in England went as fast as fifty miles an hour, but of course he didn't really believe that. Men weren't meant to go that fast - surely to goodness it would tear their insides out. The conductor had told him that this train might get up to twenty miles an hour if the way was clear and they kept a full head of steam. Chester knew that was perfectly fast enough for anyone.

It was just getting dark as they pulled into Dodge. For Matt, the trip had been an uncomfortable one, and he was ready to find solace in the quiet, familiar darkness of the jail. Chester was mumbling something about going to see to the horses and disappeared.

Matt wrapped his right arm across his chest to support his protesting ribs as he walked carefully to the end of the carriage, and stepped out onto the iron plate. He was about to descend the steps to the ground when a familiar voice greeted him.

"Welcome home, Matt!"

Kitty was walking towards him with a smile that was readily visible even in the soft, dim light of the gas lamps hanging from the depot roof. He had to admit he was more than happy to see her, but wondered how she knew to meet this train. He negotiated the two steps to the ground, being careful not to let Kitty see how bad he felt. He hated to see her worry about him so mustered the last of his strength to stand up straight and put his left arm across her back. It was then he noticed Sam standing back in the shadows.

"Good to see you back, Marshal. I've got your bags, and Chester has already put the saddles in the back of the wagon."

Matt was wondering how he was going to help Kitty up into the wagon when Sam stepped forward and assisted.

"Can you manage, Marshal?" he asked quietly.

In answer Dillon climbed slowly up onto the seat with only one slight intake of breath. In the darkness, he felt Kitty's hand encircling his arm. Even if Sam noticed, he wouldn't say anything.

"Chester wired ahead to let us know you'd be on the train," she explained, moving a little closer.

"Oh, I see," he replied. Chester had thought of everything.

Sam stopped the wagon in front of the marshal's office. "I'll take the saddles along to the stable, Marshal. Moss will take care of them for you. And I'll see that Miss Kitty gets back to the Long Branch."

"Thanks Sam. I'll drop by later, Kitty."

She squeezed his hand before he carefully left the wagon and fished in his pocket for the key to the office.

Grateful to be alone at last he unlocked the door and left it open to let in a little light while he lit the lamp on the wall at the entrance to the cells. The yellow glow gradually broke its way through the darkness as he lifted the chimney of the lamp on the desk, then struck a second match. He lit the wick then lowered the chimney and adjusted the light. They would need more lamp-oil soon, but this was fine for now.

He sank onto the cot adjacent to the wall by the cells. It seemed ages since he had been here in these comfortably familiar surroundings. His ribs were really hurting now after sitting on that train all day. He hadn't wanted to tell Chester and knew that his assistant had meant well by arranging the train home. On horseback it would have taken at least two days of hard riding and that would probably have been worse. He thought about removing his boots, but decided against it. Leaning over and pulling his feet out would only make the pain worse. From past experience, he knew that there would be pain for at least another week. Maybe tomorrow he would go see Doc.

He heard footsteps outside. At first, he thought it would be Chester. He'd have him start a fire in the stove and make some coffee - or maybe on second thought, a little of that whisky he had stashed under the washstand would be more help. Then as the door opened he realized it wasn't Chester's unique gait.

"So, you decided to come home." Adams was putting on his gruffest, most ornery voice. "I heard you were back in town. Also heard you'd taken quite a beating."

"Doc, can't we do this tomorrow?"

"For a man who's been walking around with broken ribs for a week or more, you've been extremely lucky. Don't push your luck any further. Take that shirt off and let me check you over."

Reluctantly, Matt decided the only way he was going to get any peace was to let the physician practice his profession. "What's the matter?" Matt tried to ease himself to his feet again. "Business been bad lately and you're looking for a home visit fee?"

"Oh, you're very smart for an overgrown civil servant. Here let me help you with that."

In spite of the gruffness of his voice, Doc's practiced hands were very gentle as he helped his friend remove his arms from the sleeves and ease the shirt off his back. Even in the pale lamp light Doc could see the the extent of the multiple bruises. Some were still purple while others had already faded to a sickly green. He looked around.

"You still got that bottle of snake oil over there?" He indicated the cupboard under the washstand.

"Yes, if someone else hasn't helped themselves to it while I've been gone."

Doc took one of the coffee mugs from above the stove and checked to see that it was reasonably clean. Then having retrieved the bottle in question from its hiding place, he poured a good measure.

"Here, drink this. You look like you could do with it." He handed over the mug then pulled one of the chairs from under the small table in the middle of the room and indicated for Matt to sit down.

Matt willingly accepted the drink. The whisky was rough and burned as it went down, but then it produced an inner comforting warmth. This was cheap stuff some old cowboy had given him, not the better whisky he usually got from Kitty. Still the effect would be the same.

Doc fetched the lamp from the desk and put it on the table so he could take a better look. His careful fingers felt around a few of the more serious looking bruises. He detected at least three broken ribs. Matt complained a little as the physician's skilled fingers applied pressure over the most painful areas - some out of show and some because he couldn't help it. He took another mouthful of the whisky to hide his discomfort. "Go easy now Doc - this ain't some old horse you're working on!" he complained after swallowing the rough alcohol.

Doc had already placed his stethoscope in his ears. "Stop talking so much and breath in and out for me."

Matt did as he was told to the best of his ability until Adams had finished. "Well?" Dillon asked.

"Come by my office tomorrow and if you're still breathing, I'll let you know." Doc turned away and mumbled to himself as he began reaching in his bag for the bindings he had brought with him.

It was always a painful process. Doc had explained many times that if the bandages weren't tight they didn't do any good, but that didn't make it any easier. "Breath out and don't fight me, Matt. I'll get this over as quickly as I can."

Matt yielded to the physician's ministrations. Right now he had little strength left for an argument.

True to his word Doc finished his task in a few minutes. "Now you just lie down over there and rest for a while and I'll come by and check on you later."

Matt swallowed the last of the whisky from the mug in front of him and reached for his shirt.

Doc was about to help him put it back on when Chester appeared.

"I took care of the horses n'all, Mr. Dillon. Oh, hey there, sorta startled me. I didn't see ya' there."

"I don't suppose you did. What in tarnation were you thinking by letting Matt walk around for a week with at least three broken ribs, then riding on that train for five hours?"

"Now Doc, it ain't all my fault. Ya see there was no doctor in Great Bend and… well, have you ever tried t' tell Mr. Dillon what to do?"

Matt came hurriedly to Chester's defense. "If it hadn't been for Chester I probably wouldn't even be here, Doc, so don't go blaming him. He's the one who rescued me from the jail in Great Bend and then figured out how to catch Carp and the Holcombe Brothers. I owe him my life, Doc." Matt was sitting on the side of the cot by now, with his feet still on the ground. He leaned over and resting his elbows on his knees, ran his fingers through his hair. He just wished everyone would go away and leave him alone now.

Adams was a little taken back by his friend's words. Matt didn't hand out praise like that too often. Anyway, he supposed Chester was right - there wasn't much he could have done - at least he chose the train over a two-day ride. After giving the jailer a hard stare, he removed his spectacles and placed them carefully back in their case.

"In that case, I'm glad you were there, Chester." Then almost as an afterthought he added, "Just be more careful next time." With that he picked up his medical bag and left.

"Good gravy, Mr. Dillon, I did ever'thing I could and…."

"I know Chester, you did more than enough. Don't take any notice of Doc. He most probably had a bad day or someone asked him to check their sick mule. Now, just let me get an hour or so's rest before it's time to make rounds. Maybe you could stoke that stove up a bit and make us some coffee for later.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**The Only Man I Can Trust**

Chapter 19.

It had been a week since Matt and Chester had left Dodge City to ride to Hays. Kitty knew that Matt didn't usually take Chester on those trips - but as he had told her, Chester had played such a vital part in taking down Carp and the Holcombe brothers that he deserved to go. Besides which, he added, Chester might have to testify if not enough people from Great Bend showed up.

Much to her relief, just as business in the saloon was winding down, two figures on horseback came into view at the far end of Front Street. Their outlines were not much more than shadows in the dim light that escaped from the salons and gambling houses lining the boardwalks, but it was enough for her to recognize the unique masculine shape of Matt Dillon. Chester was right there beside him, his right leg sticking out straight to the side of his horse. As they got closer she could tell that they were both fine, maybe a little tired but in good shape.

She went back inside, not wanting to rush him. Matt liked stop by the stable and take care of the horses before going to the jail and cleaning up a little. In about an hour he would come knocking quietly on her door, before letting himself in.

Her heart was beating a little faster as she helped Sam clean up the bar. Her evening barkeep and loyal friend, Sam Noonan, knew her well enough to detect the subtle change in her face.

"The marshal's back, Miss Kitty?"

"Yes Sam. Both of them look fine."

"That's good, ma'am."

"I'll take care of all the glasses if you sweep the floor. There's not much more business to be had tonight so we'll just close up early."

It was forty-five minutes later when she locked the front doors of the saloon and climbed the stairs. Just enough time left to change out of her work clothes and freshen up a little.

Almost exactly as she had predicted, there came a soft tap on the door. Then it opened and the man she had been waiting for stepped inside. For a moment or two she felt his arms encircle her as they stood there in the only place that ever afforded them a few private moments.

"It's good to be home," he muttered as he buried his face in her hair.

She released herself from his embrace and indicated the settee. "Come and sit down, Matt. I'll fix you a drink." She brought two glasses and handed one over before sitting down beside him. She didn't say anything at first, allowing time for the brandy to help him relax a little. After a few minutes silence, she decided it would be up too her to begin the conversation. "You must have been riding since early this morning." She spoke softly as she touched her hand to his arm.

He looked tired, but there was something else too. She suspected the trial hadn't gone quite as he'd hoped.

A small laugh escaped from his lips, "Well you know Chester. He always wants to get home to sleep in his bed."

"So how did the trial go?" She might as well put the question out there and get it over with.

"Pete Farrell was good. He pretty much told the judge how Tad Holcombe came to town and tried to take it over. Sheriff Hicks and his young deputy were in his way so Holcombe brought in Carp to help get rid of him." He stopped to take another sip of the brandy, but she didn't try to hurry him even though he didn't continue immediately. His eyes were focused somewhere in the distance and it took him a minute or two before speaking again.

"Carp came to town with a couple of hired killers, I think I told you that. They were the ones who did the killing, but Carp and Holcombe were the ones who paid them."

"What about that young woman, Fleur?"

"She was there, and pretty much backed up Farrell's story. She told the court how Carp and his cronies took half of her money every week and beat her if she didn't make enough."

"I've not met her, but I feel sorry for her, Matt. What's she going to do?"

"I think she'll be all right. She and Hugh Tebbers, the man who runs the stable there, travelled to Hays together. They had known each other for quite a while, and somehow discovered that they could become more than just acquaintances. I think there will be a wedding in Great Bend very soon. Apparently she wasn't going to be working at the Red Slipper any more once they got home."

"What happened to Farrell?" she prompted.

"The Judge cut Farrell quite a break after he testified against Holcombe and Carp." Matt stopped to swirl the brandy glass in his fingers. " He sentenced him to two years in prison."

"And Carp and the others?"

"Carp and Tad Holcombe got 20 years a piece. The Judge said there was only circumstantial evidence that they had been involved with the death of the lawmen, so he wouldn't sentence them to hang. Spike had escaped from prison before he arrived in Great Bend so he'll going back for the rest of his life."

He drained the rest of the contents from the glass he was holding. She knew that he was thinking and to give him time, she leaned over to re-fill his drink.

"You're not happy about that, are you?"

"Nope."

"What did that young man do? I think you said Rico was his name.

"He rode up to Hays City with Kegan and his men. After the trial Ben Carver planned to send a young deputy back to Great Bend to keep an eye on things till the town could find themselves a new Sheriff. Rico went back with him. Said he was going to help get Great Bend back on its feet. You know Kitty, that young man, he really looked up to Chester." Matt smiled as he spoke, and Kitty could tell he felt a personal pride in that.

"He could do a lot worse," she agreed with a smile.

While he was talking, he had taken something from his inside vest pocket and was smoothing it out on the coffee table in from of them. Kitty leaned over to look - it was a wanted poster for Red Larson.

"This is one of the men who shot Sheriff Hicks and his deputy. According to Farrell, the other man, name of Harris, is dead." He stopped for a moment and Kitty could almost feel the sorrow he felt. "John was a good man, someone should pay for killing him and his young deputy."

The look on his face said it all. Someday, somehow, he was going to find Red Larson, and Kitty wouldn't want to be in that man's shoes when it happened. There was silence between them again - but it was not uncomfortable or strained.

"How're your ribs doing Matt? You know Doc was quite worried about you riding all that way to Hays."

"Doc fusses too much. He took the bindings off just now, before I came up here. Said he figured they were as healed as they'd ever be."

"Did you ever figure out what happened with the man who was killed on the street."

"No," he answered thoughtfully. "I couldn't find anyone who knew anything about it. Even if I did find out who it was fired that shot, there's not a man in Great Bend who would convict him. I guess it's all over."

She reached for his glass, "Let me get you another drink. It'll help you sleep."

"I don't particularly want to sleep right now. That sure is a pretty robe you're wearing tonight."

"You think so?" She had ordered it from a catalog about a month ago and had been saving it for a special occasion. Now she twirled around so he could appreciate the lace and ribbons that decorated the sleeves.

Being Matt, he blushed a little at her seductive movements. She always thought how endearing it was that a strong, tough man like marshal Dillon could be quite bashful at times.

"It's alright," she leaned in and took his hand. "We're the only ones here and the town has been quiet tonight. Here, let me help you loosen your belt and take your boots off so you can be comfortable."

It had been so long since he had been up here in her room. He and Chester had barely been back in town for three days when the telegram came from Hays, informing him that the trial was about to begin. Immediately he had packed up and left, barely stopping to say goodbye. She knew he wanted someone to pay for the death of John Hicks. The old sheriff had been a good friend to Matt over the years, and for him to be murdered, shot in the back in some dark alley, had really got to him.

Now she was anxious to feel him lying next to her, to feel his breath on her skin and the comfort of his arms around her. Just the two of them, alone in this small sacred space above the Long Branch Saloon. So many nights she had lain here by herself, trying to imagine him beside her, the feel of his face against hers as his lips placed gentle kisses on her mouth.

He was trying to pull his boots off, but grunted as he did so. She leaned over to help.

"Let me do that for you Matt."

He hated to show any weakness, she knew that, but there was only the two of them here.

"There doesn't that feel better?" She had managed to get both boots off and stowed beside the bed.

He was standing up now and took her in his arms once more. The closeness of him made her tremble slightly. It was typical of him that he had washed-up and put on a clean shirt before coming to see her. At the same time she felt deprived of the musty, sweaty oder of the maleness of him, fresh off the prairie. The mixture of his own unmistakeable scent combined with those of saddle leather and the sweet grasses of the prairie, were like an aphrodisiac to her.

"I miss this feeling of being just plain old Matt Dillon," he was speaking slowly, softly, trying to find the words that said how he felt. "No badge, no responsibility. It only lasts for short intervals here and there in our lives, but just to hold you like this, takes away so many of my worries.

She pushed back a little and started to unbutton his shirt. Even though the worst of the bruises had now faded to a yellow tinge, she could see how extensive his injuries had been. It was typical of him that he had said nothing about them. Doc had told her he was in pretty bad shape when he came back from Great Bend and that he needed a lot of rest. She had taken a few meals to the jail for him, but he seemed to want to be left alone.

Now he was back and seemed more his usual self.

"They did a pretty good job on you, Matt." There was hardly an area of skin on his chest that wasn't covered with fading bruises.

"Yeah," he agreed, and for a few minutes it seemed no further explanation was forthcoming. Then almost with a sense of pride he began to tell her how Chester had ridden into town and figured out what was going on, then planned the whole rescue. How the jailer had taken them all to the safety of an old derelict shack. "You should have seen Chester, Kitty. He managed to organize everyone and take care of the prisoners until those deputies arrived from Hays. He even arranged for the train home. I owe him my life."

Kitty smiled, "Then I owe him too, Matt, and I'll be sure to tell him so."

()()()

They were lying side by side on the bed, where they had spent so many wonderful nights. She wanted to be close, to feel his skin touching hers but didn't want to hurt him. He reached over and drew her closer.

"I don't tell you this often enough Kitty, but this part of my life, here with you, is the most precious thing I've ever had."

What could she say? She reached over with her free hand and pushed the dark wayward curls from his forehead.

"Let's see how precious tonight can be, Matt."

()()()

Usually it was Matt who woke up early and left before she was awake, but this morning it was different. Maybe the three glasses of brandy she had plied him with the night before partly accounted for that.

She wasn't sure if Chester would be up yet, but she was certain he would be at the jail.

Dressing quietly, she took a last look at the sleeping lawman. She would have loved to lay there next to him for a while longer but there was something she had to do.

Front Street was remarkably active considering how early it was. Jonas was unlocking his store as she went by. He spoke briefly but wondered why on earth Miss Kitty was up and about at this hour. She was relieved to see a light still burning at the jail and knocked on the door before entering. Chester was there.

"Miss Kitty what are you a' doin' here s' early?" He was somewhat flustered because he was still in his long handled drawers. He began scrambling to pull his pants on and button a shirt over them."Why I ain't even decent for a lady…"

She replied drily. "Don't worry Chester, you're not the first man I've seen this early in the morning." She turned her back and perused an old newspaper on the table so as to give him a little privacy while he finished dressing.

He gave a short forced laugh and was about to speak, but she stopped him.

"Chester, I'm here to thank you. Matt told me all about how you rescued him and saved the town of Great Bend almost single handedly." She turned back around, just as he was arranging his suspenders,

Chester, of course, was blushing vivid red by this time. "Aww shucks, Miss Kitty, I only did what any one else woulda done."

"Matt said you saved his life."

Poor Chester didn't know where to look. He was used to being ridiculed or even ignored, but praise, especially from a woman like Miss Kitty, was something he didn't know how to deal with.

Kitty watched him. She remembered that she used to wonder why Matt kept Chester around. He didn't carry a gun, more often than not he messed things up, but Matt had an unyielding faith in the man, and at times like this she could see why.

"Chester, stop blushing and get your shirt buttoned straight, you got it all crooked. I'm taking you to breakfast."

"But Miss Kitty…" he didn't get to finish his excuse and stood there with his arms flailing. She stepped towards him, fixed his shirt then planted a kiss on his cheek.

She murmured softly in his ear, "That's from me, Chester, for bringing him home safely. I owe you one too."

The jailer's heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he thought she must be hearing it too. He could feel the blush rising in his cheeks and thought it was headed all the away to his toes.

"Come on Chester, let's get going. I don't often get up in time for breakfast, so we're going to make the most of it. My treat."

End


End file.
